A Change of Plans
by Alex L. Kerr
Summary: Sam is diagnosed with a Seizure Disorder - Epilepsy - when he is ten years old. A series of chronological vignettes.
1. The Bus

Story 1 - The Bus

Words: ~ 2,700

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**A Change of Plans**

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The windows were dirty – a visible film of dust coating the glass. Dean's blood-shot eyes wandered to the sill. Grit and grime was permanently embedded in the rubber glue sealant along the frame. It smelled musty; the air stagnant and cloying.

Dean tapped the balls of his feet on the floor which was coated by a syrupy substance; someone probably spilled a drink earlier in the day. His boots made oddly gratifying, yet disgusting, sucking sounds as he tapped.

Pot hole. Dean felt the muted jolt and rearranged himself in the hard plastic seat. He felt a weak tug on his shoulder. Still staring at the window frame, he calmly rocked back and forth a couple of times. He had the stale taste of coffee in his mouth and a distinct pang of hunger in his stomach. He only ever forgot to eat when he was over-caffeinated.

Dean blinked a few times, widening his eyes as much as possible upon each reopening. He had to stay awake and alert.

After a few minutes, his red-rimmed lids hit half-mast again. Dilated pupils landed right back where they'd been before: the dirty window frame.

Dean drifted his gaze to the handle of the emergency door. The lever was recently painted a brilliant red. Exhausted, but still making an effort, Dean recalled the procedure of twisting and pushing the hatch out of the bus. His legs were starting to fall asleep.

His stare remained on the emergency hatch until his vision naturally refocused on the window's reflections. He could see all the people in the bus: one ruffled middle-aged man in a slate-grey suit in the back. Couple of exhausted cashiers or maids in the center-front. One homeless guy talking to the driver at the very front. Dean had ruled them all out as soon as he got Sam settled in his seat. It was late; rush hour had come and gone hours ago and a kid directing the word, 'Christo,' at strangers in a bus at one in the morning wasn't the weirdest thing that had ever happened.

Dean boosted Sam up in his arms and Sam responded with a stronger grip on Dean's shoulder as he resettled with him. Dean felt the bracelet's metal press against his shoulder blade and he swallowed his fears with a tight grimace.

The bus came to a slow, screeching halt. The wheels depressed and the doors gasped open. No one stepped on. Dean noticed the driver get up and peer out the window. He sullenly sat back down to pull a different lever, shaking his head with disdain.

The second set of doors, further in the back of the bus and directly in front of Dean, sprung open a few seconds later. Dean didn't blink.

It was a college student on his way home, trudging up the bus's steps. He glanced over at them. The bus's stark white light highlighted Dean's gaunt features and the guy put him at eighteen, maybe nineteen years of age.

Certainly not fifteen.

The college student didn't turn back around to get a better look at Dean, though. Rather, he gave a double-take to Sam.

Sam, the ten year old sprawled across Dean, one arm over Dean's shoulder, the other around his back. Dean held him tightly, protectively, against his chest. Sam's legs dangled limply on the seat he had originally been sitting in. He wore a pair of blue-grey plaid pajama pants, his old Converse sneakers and a plain light blue t-shirt that he was fast outgrowing.

Dean wouldn't have dressed Sam this way if he'd known. He had gotten off the payphone and realized he hadn't packed Sam's clothes to suit anywhere but the Impala.

They had wheeled Sam out – protocol – as he circled and pulled at the bracelet around his wrist, trying to get comfortable with the shackle.

Dean had opened the door to leave the building and noticed Sam shiver at the slight chill. Dean had taken off his black hoodie and pulled it over his weak, fatigued brother. Oversized as it was, Sam relaxed under its folds and right now he was keeping the hood up over his head and most of his face. He was as hidden as he could be under the circumstances.

Dean unconsciously spread his hand around the back of Sam's hooded head and gently pressed him closer possessively as he eyed the college student's dumb expression.

"_Hey_! _Christo!_" Dean snarled while feeling Sam's body tense slightly in surprise to Dean's harsh tone of voice. The guy startled, but hadn't flinched at the word. Still, he had been staring at them for far too long. Dean raised an eyebrow threateningly.

"You want to sit down?" Dean warned.

"Ah, yeah, sorry-" the guy replied, ashamed, and turned away. Dean narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the stranger move down the center aisle awkwardly. He wasn't a real danger, but Dean didn't appreciate the staring. It made him feel like Sam was a spectacle and that they were vulnerable. They _were_ vulnerable.

Dean could only either hold Sam hidden or protect him on offense. He couldn't do both. He'd chosen the former after Sam had made himself clear.

Dean closed his eyes with grief and used his chin to push the back of Sam's neck further against his own. Sam complied with hitched breaths. Dean grimaced at the sound and held still, waiting for his brother to relax his breaths. After a few seconds, Dean pushed the oversized hood back from the side of Sam's face and let his cheek rest along the side of Sam's head.

"You okay?" Dean whispered delicately into Sam's ear. Sam gave a small shiver and Dean boosted him up on his lap again and Sam regripped his hold around Dean.

"Okay. It's okay," Dean lulled Sam with a couple more rocking motions. A tear slipped from Dean's eye. "Just don't think about it. C'mon," he instructed gently. Sam's muscles tensed and relaxed against him, squeezing his big brother into a tighter hug for a few moments. Dean kissed Sam on the temple in response and resumed his steady, quiet hold on the kid.

Things had gone to hell once they had sat down. Sam, still slightly numb from his diagnosis, let Dean move him down the aisle of the bus after waiting, staring at nothing, as Dean paid their fare. Dean sat Sam down, told him to stay there, and made his rounds to each occupant of the bus, genially saying, 'Christo,' to each one of them.

Sam, his hood still up, hunched over in his chair and played with the bracelet Dean had bought him. The small metal plate read, "Seizure Disorder," with the dark red medical alert symbol next to it. It had a clasp, but it fit Sam's wrist perfectly.

Dean sat down next to him, letting out a brief sigh, and casually laid his arm on the back of Sam's seat as he looked down at what Sam was studying. Dean noticed Sam's fidgeting and felt slightly ashamed: there had been no real need to get the bracelet. Sam would be around Dean and their father consistently in the next few weeks. The bracelet could've waited.

But Dean had been scared for Sam and both of them were alone in the hospital, reeling from the diagnosis. Their father was unable to get to them, wherever he was, and so when Dean visited the gift shop, he had spotted the bracelet and picked it up. He was worried about Sam; about what would happen to Sam if he wasn't around all the time for him, now. So he thought maybe the bracelet would relieve that fear a little bit.

Sam, however, accidentally took it as a message from Dean that he might very well have a seizure without Dean around quite soon. Not just that, but Sam wasn't in the right state of mind to accept a gift that served as a constant reminder. The doctors said they didn't know, but possibly for the rest of his life, Sam would suffer unpredictable seizures which rendered him at the mercy of the strangers around him. Hence, the bracelet. Sam understood the logic, but he was scared, too. He knew he was now a liability for hunts; would their father start ignoring him more, now?

"Dad should've been here," Sam murmured, then felt Dean's hand on his head, pulling the hoodie back a little bit to reveal his face.

"What, Sammy?"

Sam turned and looked up at Dean, biting his lip slightly.

"Dad should've been here," he repeated, this time a little loudly. He watched Dean's reaction carefully when they started to deviate from his expectations. Dean gave a long sigh and pinned Sam with sad, genuine eyes.

"Yeah. Yes, Sam, he should've," Dean agreed, speaking slowly and gently. Dean knew how serious this was. Their father had no excuse and, for once, Dean sided with Sam on this.

Sam nodded and looked back down at the bracelet, trying to hide tears. Even though he'd been _looking_ for Dean to agree with him about Dad, he hadn't expected it. Now that he had gotten what he'd wanted from Dean, he felt worse. Dean nearly always came to their father's defense. Dean kept alive in Sam the idea that John still loved and took care of them despite his absence.

But not tonight. Tonight, Dean acknowledged that John had let them both down. There was nothing more to say; John would never be able to take this back. They knew he was going to get into town that day and he told them he was going to pick them up that night.

That was the plan made that morning. The doctor came in at noon to talk about seizure disorders. Dean had been given an unsettling crash course in how to take care of Sam for a couple of hours. Then, Dean had called John to tell him. By then, John had stopped answering his phone.

When Sam was given his dinner tray in his room, Dean had gone to the payphone to call Bobby. That's when he discovered John, on an, 'emergency,' had to change plans. He thought he had successfully left a message at the hospital's nurse's station.

Dean found himself frowning in anger, thinking, until he heard a small sound of frustrated pain next to him. Dean snapped out of it and looked at his brother.

"Sam? What is it?" Dean asked, looking at the little hunched-over, hooded figure next to him.

"Dean, I want it off, I think," Sam said, his voice unusually high-pitched. Dean winced in confusion at the sound and leaned in to Sam's space on his seat.

"Hey… Hey are you okay?" Dean asked solicitously, pulling Sam's hood back a little bit to see his face. "Are you crying?" Dean said in the same breath.

"No!" Sam's voice broke with emotion. A few moments of silence passed; Dean waited for Sam, resting his palm tentatively against Sam's back. Dean looked around the bus for a few seconds, wishing they could be in the back of the Impala or in their motel room – anywhere more private than a public bus. Dean felt Sam's body start to tremble and his world narrowed back to Sam.

"Sammy-?" Dean whispered as he moved his arm around Sam's back.

"Dean, I'm _not crying_!" Sam cried, hunching over in his seat and covering his face, shaking.

"C'mere Sam," Dean coaxed, reaching around Sam further and lightly pulling Sam sideways towards him for a hug. Sam didn't budge, though.

"No, Dean! I just want the damn thing off!" Sam whispered his plea to Dean while trying to undo the metal clasp.

"Sam, why? No, come on, leave it on," Dean replied reasonably, reaching over and grasping Sam's wrist; covering it entirely with his own hand. Sam stilled for a second. Dean's hands and arms were all around him, now, restraining him with such delicate strength, Sam knew he neither could nor wanted to break away. Breathing heavily, he started to list against Dean's side and tried to calm himself down.

"You want the bracelet on me because you're not gonna be there when I have another seizure," Sam said softly, carefully keeping his voice level. Dean's brows furrowed with confusion.

"What? No, Sam, that's not what it means-"

"It is. You're the only one that knows how-" Sam's voice broke again, and he stopped speaking in an effort to stifle his sob. Dean grasped Sam tighter.

"Dad wasn't there for the doctors to talk to! And now you're the only one that knows how to deal with me and the bracelet is for when you're not gonna be there! Dean, you're not gonna be there and I-"

Sam's shaky outburst, riddled with insecurity and fear, was cut short as Dean had heard enough.

Sam was small for his age, and Dean generally bigger for his. The two of them were used to the discrepancy, though, and it wasn't uncomfortable or completely outlandish when Dean hunched down to Sam's level, embraced the kid in a hug, and simply lifted him out of his seat and over onto his lap in the process.

He didn't know exactly what it was about stuff like this, but while Dean's goal was always to get Sam to _stop_ crying, it always ended up fueling the kid's tears instead. And, just like a few other occasions Dean could recall from the past, Sam's silent cries turned into full-blown sobs under Dean.

"I'm always gonna be there, Sam, always," Dean said what Sam needed to hear as the kid's fears and anxieties ricocheted around his mind and shook his body. "I've got you, I've always got you," he continued sincerely, feeling Sam's desperate arms grip and regrip around him: gravity dropping him lower into Dean's lap.

Dean hunched down so Sam's head could land on his shoulder and boosted him up again. For a second he thought he saw the kid's feet struggle for purchase on the seat next to them, but it stopped a millisecond later as Dean settled.

"Okay," Dean murmured, trying to get comfortable as he knew Sam would stay here, like this, with him for awhile. He wouldn't have told anyone, but secretly Dean needed this too. Learning about seizures, and that he may have to witness his brother having another grande mal that had landed them in the hospital to begin with – had really frightened Dean. All he wanted was to feel in control again; to feel like he could take care of his little brother again.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy. Don't worry I'll always be around for you. We're in this together, okay? I've got you."

Slowly, Dean began to believe it just as much as he knew Sam did. Sam had melted under Dean's words, gradually relaxing under his brother's hold. Dean kept up the litany of comforting promises and even found himself wishing he could fall asleep. Eventually, he stopped, and began to stare at the windows of the bus.

They were dirty – a visible film of dust coating the glass. His blood-shot eyes wandered to the sill. Grit and grime was permanently embedded in the rubber glue sealant along the frame. It smelled musty; the air stagnant and cloying.

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_Writer's Note: So, this was surprisingly unconventional. I didn't know I'd end where I started, but it seemed to take itself there, so here it is. Please let me know what you thought of it! Also, I promise I'm still working on Clean Slate and Better Start Swimming. Cheers! ~ Alex_


	2. The Pool

_Writer's Note: So, this chapter came out of nowhere, too, but hey. It was fun to write. Thank Marianna Morgan's writing that got me into thinking Epilepsy was so compelling/dramatic. Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_

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Story 2 - The Pool

Words: ~ 3,900

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**A Change of Plans**

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"No no, it's _fine!" _Dean said as Jenny splashed to the edge of the pool. "Damn it," he whispered as she got out and padded across the deck.

"Dah-" Sam murmured distantly, rolling his eyes and vaguely reaching up to Dean, accidentally slapping him, hard, against his bare stomach. Dean breathed an, 'ah,' in annoyance, but stayed still, his world focused on Sam.

"Hey Sammy you're okay… You're okay, Sammy," Dean soothed, bringing Sam closer to his side and massaging the back of his little brother's neck and head, keeping it upright and stable. Sam was starting to slowly contort his body in Dean's arms.

"Okay, relax, I got you," Dean comforted, the chlorinated water dripping from his hair and face onto Sam's floating body.

Suddenly, Sam's pitched scream pierced and echoed through the acoustic pool space, his vocal cords seizing up for a second. Surprised, Dean clamped down on his brother's body accidentally, but loosened his grip as the grand mal began. The lifeguard's whistle went off at three blows. Dean knew they were signaling about Sam, but continued to hold his little brother up in the five-foot-deep pool level he had them in.

…

Sam had been in shallower waters before the seizure when he'd started softly calling Dean's name with a far-off tone of dread. He'd been playing with a girl named Jenny, and she didn't understand him until Sam spelled his request out for her.

"Dean. Jenny. Can you get - Dean - please - Jenny?" Sam struggled to whisper as he sensed something wrong, something off-kilter with their surroundings. Jenny had laughed, not understanding.

"Okay! _DEAN_!" She yelled teasingly, her shrill voice piercing the pool's acoustics and echoed around. From the other side of the pool, Dean had been chatting and flirting with one of the lifeguards that was on break. He looked up and waved.

"Dean! Sam wants you!" She screeched, her voice echoing again around the hotel pool.

"Why?" Dean called back jokingly. Jenny giggled and looked over to where Sam was, but he'd moved away. She looked around until she spotted him and pointed in his direction. Sam had swum over to the side of the pool, holding onto the edge desperately.

"Dean…" Jenny called, uncertain, now. She saw Sam try to lift himself out of the pool and fail, slumping back with a splash into the water. Jenny didn't understand; she'd seen Sam hop the edge of the pool several times, now, with zero difficulty. Dean saw it, too.

"_Whoa!_" Dean exclaimed at the sight, jumping up from his seated position near the lifeguard and jogging over to the edge of the pool where Sam was. Sam was making a second attempt to get out just as Dean came up to him.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, no, Sam," Dean murmured softly as he ran up to his brother, "Sammy, no, stay in the pool, c'mon-" he said when he bent down to grasp Sam under the shoulders and lift him up from the cement deck floor. Sam's half-masted eyes lazily drifted to Dean. He set his hands on Dean's arms and tried to squeeze.

"Okay, c'mon, we'll just do it in here, okay?" Dean said calmly as he inched forward, lowering Sam back into the water. Without losing his grip on his brother, Dean sat down on the edge, then slipped into the pool.

Once both of them were in, Dean pulled his weightless brother up to him, holding him up around his back. Sam wasn't making much deliberate movement anymore, so Dean bent his knees and boosted Sam's thighs up so his legs would cross around Dean's waist. On automatic, Sam tried to lock his ankles around Dean and mildly succeeded.

"The- people…" Sam whispered in distant embarrassment as Dean put an arm along Sam's spine. Sam's head situated itself in the crook of Dean's neck, and Dean kept it there for the time being.

"That's okay, Sammy, nobody minds," Dean reassured as Sam tried to grip Dean, but failed. He turned his face further into Dean's neck with shame.

"-Sam?" Jenny asked, hesitantly, scared. Dean swiveled around in the water slowly, turning his eyes on Jenny. Holding Sam like most parents hold their toddlers, Dean regarded her.

"You're Jenny, right?" Dean started walking them out a little deeper in the pool – the five foot level. Jenny followed them, eyeing Sam with worry.

"Yeah, what's wrong with him?" She asked bluntly.

"He's got Epilepsy," Dean replied kindly as he stopped in the pool.

Dean focused on Sam, turned his head down and whispered into Sam's ear.

"'kay Sammy, let go," he said softly, bending down and dipping Sam's back into the water. Sam stayed in the water, his limbs and body starting to twitch and move haphazardly, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing. Dean moved quickly, disentangling himself from Sam's legs while assuming the right position, the position he'd been taught, to be ready for full convulsions. At the sight of Sam's unconscious facial ticks and movements, though, Jenny stared in horror.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed in fear at the sight of Sam as Dean, intensely focused, moved his hand down to the base of Sam's spine. He looked up, alarmed, at Jenny.

"No no, it's _fine!" _Dean said as Jenny splashed to the edge of the pool. "Damn it," he whispered as Jenny got out and padded across the deck.

…

Busy with making sure Sam's head was above surface, Dean could only hear the lifeguard's splash into the pool behind him.

"Come on, Sammy, c'mon," Dean whispered as he felt Sam's muscles contract and expand spastically underneath him in the water. He was slippery and it was more difficult than Dean anticipated to hold him well. One arm around Sam's waist/spine, the other under the base of his neck, Dean had him floating horizontal to the pool floor.

The lifeguard, a friendly-looking teenager, rushed over. Dean didn't look up.

"I'm his brother. He's got epilepsy-"

"Okay so this is Sam, you're Dean?" the guy replied calmly, stepping his way around Dean to help keep Sam's left side up above the surface.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Dean said, not really paying attention, scared that Sam's seizure wouldn't end on time.

"We got briefed about it; hotel policy to know about medical conditions," the kid responded, relaxed.

A couple of lifeguards jogged their way to the edge of the pool closest to Dean.

"Nah it's Sam," the lifeguard called out meaningfully to his coworkers. The lifeguards on the side of the pool gave thumbs-up and set the board down, prepared to wait the seizure out before the coast was clear. The lifeguard turned back to Dean.

"How long, now?"

"Minute thirty," Dean replied, counting the seconds.

Sam was still convulsing wildly, his legs and arms moving slower than they usually did, given the water resistance. His mouth contorted, neck stretched, back arched, his legs and feet extended back and forth, fluctuating and straining every muscle. It looked painful and exhausting. Most of all, it looked scary; Dean was only just getting used to seeing Sam like this, and all he wanted to do was hold him down and make him _stop seizing_. But he couldn't; he'd likely hurt both Sam and himself in the process. He just had to let his little brother ride it out.

Slowly, the seizure started to abate; Sam's jerks and jolts becoming less emphasized, and eventually lasting out to deep, heavy breathes.

"Does he normally wake up after?" The lifeguard asked, beckoning the other lifeguards to jump in with the board.

"Yeah, he does. Hold on, don't do that yet," Dean ordered, still holding Sam securely in the water. Sam's body floated easily with Dean's support, now, and Dean had no trouble keeping him steady while he waited for Sam to find his way back to consciousness. Dean kept his eyes on his little brother, silently pleading for him to wake up. He heard the lifeguards around him in the water and looked up for a second.

"Listen, he's epileptic. He doesn't need that," Dean nodded at the board.

"You sure?"

"Yeah the seizure was under three minutes. He didn't hurt himself," Dean said calmly, looking back to his brother and moving his hand to cup the boy's head.

"Okay sounds good," the lifeguard responded. Dean heard the guards slop out of the pool with the board. The one that first approached them, though, remained next to Dean.

"I don't know much about epilepsy, but I've heard that pools can sometimes be the safest places for people to have seizures…"

"Yup," Dean murmured under his breath as he kept Sam up, waiting for him to come around. "Sammy, c'mon man, wake up," Dean coaxed, pulling him a little closer in the water. He started to walk towards the shallower end of the pool, towing the kid's weightless body with him.

Sam gulped a couple of times and Dean stopped moving. Slowly, Sam brought a hand up to weakly grasp at Dean's arm.

"Sammy-" Dean called softly, bending down, and Sam's dazed eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, there you are," Dean said quietly, brushing back Sam's wet bangs from off his face.

"Hey," he breathed, blinking a few times. His eyes rolled a little bit on the last blink, disoriented. Dean squeezed Sam a little bit, needing to feel Sam's weak, yet still deliberately-moving, muscles react.

"Hey hey Sam come on wake up buddy, just for a little bit," Dean gently persuaded as he maneuvered Sam to be vertical with the floor of the pool.

"Wha… Okay," Sam barely responded, but managed to stand in the pool. Dean angled himself behind him and held him upright; one hand on his chest, one against his stomach, and started to walk him towards the steps.

"Okay you got him?" The lifeguard asked, walking with Dean as he took Sam to the steps. Dean glanced at the lifeguard and nodded.

"Yup. We'll just head upstairs," Dean replied casually.

"Need a wheelchair?"

"Nah, thanks though," Dean replied, smiling.

"Yeah, no problem," the lifeguard responded kindly.

"Dee…" Sam whispered, looking around, uncertain, as he clutched the arms wrapped around his body.

"Yep, buddy, it's me," Dean replied against Sam as they, 'walked.' In truth, as they made their way in the pool, the bottoms of Sam's feet were treading on the tops of Deans', but it still kept Sam's legs moving, which, Dean figured, was probably helping to keep him awake.

"Wha's going on?" Sam's head lolled back against Dean's chest for a second.

"You had a seizure. We're gonna get out of the pool, okay?"

"How… Are we… A pool?" Sam asked, confused. They reached the pool's stairs.

"Yeah c'mon we're going up the steps right now: one-two-three-" Dean said quickly, and hoisted Sam up. Sam scrambled weakly for purchase.

"Dee-" Sam gasped in surprise, but Dean stepped up easily, holding Sam tight the whole time.

"I gotchya," Dean replied lightly.

When they got to the landing, Sam was shivering and pressing himself closer and closer against Dean. Dean was holding Sam up from behind, only his forearms supporting Sams', now. The lifeguard that Dean had been flirting with earlier, Charlotte, appeared with a towel.

"Here you go," she offered.

"Thanks, Char," Dean said gratefully, and took the towel to use on Sam.

"Do you guys have your stuff?" One of the lifeguards asked. Dean looked up at the guy momentarily as he toweled Sam down.

"Uh, yeah it's over there – the Batman towel…" Dean replied distractedly, and the lifeguard turned, spotted their stuff, and jogged over to pick it up for them.

"Dee – Dean…" Sam breathed, looking around hazily as his brother finished getting him dry. Dean crouched down so Sam didn't have to strain his neck to look up at him.

"Yeah, Sammy, what's up?"

Just at that moment, the lifeguard came back with their things.

"Thanks, man," Dean said evenly, reaching out and gesturing for the dry Batman towel. The lifeguard handed it to him and Dean wrapped it around Sam. Sam numbly gripped the towel with shaky hands. Dean turned to find his t-shirt and was throwing it on quickly when Sam spoke up.

"Dee – Everybody's-looking a'-us," Sam slurred his words, tired and still suffering from the aftermath of the seizure. He wasn't blind, though. While Dean had been taking care of Sam and talking to the lifeguards, every other kid and family had been on the edge of their seats, watching dumbly as the drama of Sam's condition had played itself out before their eyes.

Dean finished putting his shirt on and turned around at Sam's observation. Sam was right, which pissed him off. He spotted Jenny huddled in a towel, sitting next to her mother, staring straight at them. Dean looked over and saw that that was the direction in which Sam was looking, too.

"Don't worry, Sam, come on," Dean said innocently, keeping his frustration to himself, as he turned Sam around and stood up. He kept his hands on Sam's hunched shoulders and Sam did as he was told, extremely open to suggestion in his state.

Dean maneuvered his feet into his flip-flops, but thought better than to ask Sam for the dexterity required to do the same with his. Holding on to Sam's shoes, they padded out of the pool and into the lobby towards the elevator.

John had treated them all to a nice… A _really_ nice hotel after the diagnosis; he'd promised he'd be back that night to take them to dinner at a steakhouse. Dean actually believed him, too, especially if he called to let him know that Sam had had a seizure today. He wasn't going to raise Sam's hopes, though, so he kept that thought to himself.

Dean saw Sam shiver again as they waited for the elevator and Dean rubbed Sam's arms up and down absent-mindedly. Sam backed into his brother for warmth again and Dean just put his arms around Sam.

"Am I really scary looking when I have a seizure?" Sam asked quietly.

"Nope," Dean lied simply, automatically, without blinking. He was actually kind of happy that Sam had just strung a full sentence together, no matter how depressing the question really was.

"Really?"

"Yep."

Sam didn't say anything back. Dean gave Sam a small hug and Sam leaned into it. Huddled together, they waited for the elevator. Sam was safe, warming up, and loved.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The thing had glass walls. They stepped into the capsule and Dean hit the button for the eighth floor. Sam wandered over to watch the lobby get smaller as they traveled up. Dean came up next to Sam.

"You tired?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed.

"Okay," Dean nodded, "You want to shower off the chlorine first?"

"Nuh," Sam breathed.

"Okay," Dean shrugged, not really caring. "What about room service? You hungry?" He asked as the thought occurred to him.

"Nah jus' tired," Sam murmured.

"Sounds good," Dean bobbed his head, not minding. The elevator reached their floor and they walked down the hallway.

Dean had their key card and swiped it a few times before the locking mechanism blinked green. He opened the door for Sam to go through first. Sam sauntered inside, walking to his bed and, just as he was about to lie down, Dean's hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

"Whoa, sorry-" Dean said as Sam stumbled back. Dean had to steady him, wincing at the accidental force of his pull.

"What the hell-?" Sam whined irritably.

"Sorry – I just want you to wear dry clothes in bed," Dean replied with a measured tone, "C'mon that's not weird to ask."

Sam nodded tiredly, seeing reason. Dean pulled out sweats, underwear, and a t-shirt for Sam and handed them to him.

"You need help?" Dean asked, worried at Sam's bewildered facial expression when he looked at the clothes. He snapped out of it and scrunched his face up.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, appalled. Dean put his arms up with a crooked smile.

"I changed your diapers, dude."

"Whatever," Sam huffed and walked to the bathroom. He shut the door and got to work. Sam spent a long time trying to peel his wet swimming trunks off. For some reason, the logistics weren't making sense: he'd tug at one point of the fabric, then another, and another… And despite his efforts, he wouldn't have come any closer to getting them down.

Finally, though, he managed it. He kicked the rolled up fabric into the corner of the bathroom. Breathing hard from the exertion, he had to sit on the toilet seat to relax, and slowly worked on getting his underwear on while he sat. The bathroom had a floor heater that Dean had turned on before Sam had gone in. As much as Sam wanted to put all his clothes on, he felt the warmth of the floor on his feet and decided to rest for two seconds, enjoying the heat on the bottoms of his feet. Slowly falling asleep, Sam slinked from his seated position on the toilet onto the floor. He reached over and pulled the cotton sweatpants to use as a pillow and promptly began his nap.

A few minutes later, Dean knocked on the bathroom door.

"Sammy you good?" He called in one breath.

Sam didn't respond and Dean twisted the knob.

"Sam?" He called out again as he opened the bathroom. Dean's eyes widened as he spotted Sam face down on the floor. Alarmed, he rushed to Sam at the same time his kid brother let out an unmistakable snore. Dean stopped short, listened to Sam's breath as he slept, and couldn't help but start laughing.

He bent down over Sam, grinning.

"Hey- Sam?" He nudged his brother and pushed him over onto his side.

"Wha-?" Sam murmured.

Dean could tell Sam was too out of it to wake up fully; to be fair, he wasn't sure if he wanted to: the kid was so close to a bed, now, he didn't need to walk it. He rolled Sam all the way over onto his back and felt the heated floor as he did so. Things clicked into place and Dean chuckled.

"Decided you'd fall asleep on the heated floor, huh?" Dean asked the rhetorical question, smiling, as he flipped Sam's sweatpants out and got his little brother's feet inside.

"Yeah. S'warm," Sam whispered as he let Dean pull his pants up.

"Lift," Dean whispered, just like when they had been little, and Sam vaguely lifted up so Dean could pull the sweats up to his waist. Dean noticed the t-shirt on the floor and called it a lost cause: he really wasn't interested in the effort it'd take to get a t-shirt on an exhausted ten-year old.

"Okay, c'mon, sleeping beauty," Dean said affectionately as he moved his arms around Sam, picking him up carefully. Sam went with it, holding onto Dean's shoulders and bending his knees. Dean got him up easily and silently made his way out of the bathroom and into the room.

Sam had fallen asleep again in Dean's arms by the time he set him down in bed. It didn't bother him; Dean opted to take a shower and call their dad. With the steakhouse dinner planned, Dean was pretty happy. He proceeded to call the life guard office at the hotel to thank them and asked Charlotte if he could see her again. She had said yes.

He finally moved onto the bed he shared with Sam to channel surf and peruse the room service lunch menu. It was about one in the afternoon. Sam and Dean had been in the pool for a couple of hours and Dean was now starving. He sat down facing the bedside table with the services binder on it – pulling it off, he flipped through the pages as Sam slept on right behind him.

Dean had just dialed the extension for room service, ready with his order, when Sam woke up. Dean's eyes lit upon his groggy brother.

"Oh, sorry let me call you back," Dean said. Sam looked at Dean blearily, confused.

"What're you doing?" He asked grouchily.

"Ordering room service. You want anything?" Dean asked cheerfully, his tone holding innocent excitement for the activity. He showed Sam the menu in the binder and Sam squinted, looking at it, then started to grin.

"Yeah," Sam whispered sleepily as he studied its contents. "Can I get the chicken fingers?"

"What sauce?"

"Um..." Sam considered, "Honey mustard!"

"Yup! Anything else?"

"Ohhh," Sam drawled with longing, "the waffle cheese friesss-"

Sam's voice was scratchy from sleep, but still obviously excited. He looked up at Dean, timid but hopeful.

"Oh, yes, _definitely," _Dean chuckled, glancing at where Sam was looking at the menu. "'Kay, good?"

Sam nodded, giving his own crooked smile as he had not fully woken up yet. He flopped back, pressing his face against the hotel's luxurious feather down pillow and just watched Dean's back as he dialed the extension, ordered their plates, and hung up the phone.

Dean rubbed his hands together in anticipation, turning over to look at Sam, and grinned. Sam returned the expression dreamily and Dean backed up against the headboard of the bed. He put his legs under the covers and got comfortable. Sam gravitated over to him, liking to be close to Dean, who was always really warm.

"So how're you feeling?" Dean asked, sliding a hand over to rest casually on Sam's back, the other grabbing the remote off the bedside table to flick the TV on.

Sam shrugged.

"I'm okay," he said in a small, muffled voice. Dean started rubbing his back as he flicked through channels.

"Okay," Dean replied simply. Sam smiled a little and cuddled in closer to Dean.

Dean quirked a smile, too, satisfied with the moment, and kept his arm around Sam as he landed on channel eighteen and read the program schedule. As it scrolled, Dean read through the listings for something they would want to watch together when their food arrived.

* * *

_Writer's Note: Please review – let me know what you thought! Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_

_Writer's Note #2: After doing some research, normally an ambulance is always called when a seizure occurs in water - primarily to make sure that water hadn't been ingested = partial drowning. This scene, if following through on current standards, would've had the lifeguards automatically call the paramedics, but as it was 1993 and the young lifeguards were taking cues from Dean, I figure this scenario still could have happened._


	3. The Steakhouse

_Writer's Note: Okay you guys seem really interested in John, so here we go… (!)_

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Story 3 - The Steakhouse

Words: ~ 3,400

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

The steakhouse was huge and full of dark polished wood. Dean instantly took to it with a spring in his step as they passed through the foyer. Sam was still a little fuzzy, but he was obviously enjoying himself, looking around at the luxurious and warm surroundings in fascination. They both followed their father, who had genially asked the hostess for a booth in the back. The hostess nodded graciously and a waitress, having overheard, ushered them through.

John had wanted the back booths so Sam and Dean could look around the entire space as they followed him. It was rather grandiose, and John felt slightly uneasy at the thought that he had robbed his sons of experiencing or appreciating, 'the finer things.' Still, he held on to his ethics and principles, ruling, 'the finer things,' as immaterial to what really mattered in life. John was many things, but shallow was not one of them.

They reached their booth and John slid into his side, not bothering to move past the middle of the seat: Dean and Sam always sat together. Only this time, much to his surprise, Dean slid in at the same time as John, leaving Sam to come after Dean to settle on the side closest to the aisle.

Ever since they were kids, Dean always took the outside. _Things change_, John figured, and smiled at the waitress as she handed them their menus. She smiled back and said she'd be back in a few minutes to take their order. The three of them said their thank you's and as she walked away, Dean crooked his head to the side, trying to check her out from the interior of his seat. Sam noticed and flinched, looking over to Dean, who was now lifting himself up a little bit to get the last glimpse.

"Dean!" Sam whined in laughter, and Dean flopped back onto his seat and turned to his kid brother.

"What?" He asked innocently. John dismissed the behavior and fixed them with a serious gaze.

"Okay. Exits?"

"The kitchens are right behind us," Dean offered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

"Nice, smart ass. Any idea about the other ones?" John smiled. Sam coughed and laid his arms on the table.

"Two exits – one on the south… Southwest-ish side, the other on the… East," Sam gauged, trying to feel out the cardinal directions as he spoke.

"Wow, good job, Sammy," Dean remarked, looking at his brother. Sam gave Dean a self-satisfied smile.

"Yup you got it, Sam," John agreed.

"Thank you," Sam replied back to both of them, feeling quite good.

"Elbows off the table, though," John murmured, nodding to Sam as he pulled his napkin out and flipped it open to place on his lap. The boys imitated their father, not entirely aware of the whole, 'manners,' protocol, but still willing to give it a shot in the midst of their excitement. John tried to hold back a smile, inwardly adoring his boys for behaving so respectfully, and picked up the menu. Again, his boys mimicked him.

The three of them started in on studying the menu, then, and Dean kept moving over and whispering things to Sam.

"Ah, stop it, _Dean!_" Sam finally said loudly, and Dean sat back, chuckling, with his hands up in defense.

"Dean," John warned.

"Sorry sorry," Dean waved his hand, and stopped bothering Sam. John let it go; he suspected Dean was just doing what he always did: recommended plates to Sam that he thought Sam would like. Only problem was that they were now at a place where Sam would probably like _everything_ on this menu, so instead of being helpful, Dean had turned into a pestering, annoying sibling.

"Okay, I know what I'm going to get," John announced, and set the menu down. Dean looked up, surprised.

"You're fast," he commented. John shrugged.

"I just know what I like."

Dean nodded without judgment and turned to Sam.

"Sammy what about you?"

"Um…" Sam hummed, "Yeah?"

"You sound uncertain," Dean deadpanned sarcastically, making John laugh. Sam chuckled a second.

"Yeah, no, I know what I want."

"What is it?" Dean asked, friendly. Sam licked his lips and pointed to something on the menu and Dean nodded, reading the description, and gave Sam a smile.

"Yeah that looks really good," he agreed, and Sam nodded his head happily, setting the menu down.

"You?" John asked. Dean sighed and set his menu down.

"Yep. Good."

"Okay good," John said, looking like he was going to say more, but stopping there. His boys looked at him expectantly, though, having caught his initial intention. John gave a laugh and sighed.

"I wanted to talk to you guys," John started, "About something really important," he said meaningfully.

Dean sat up in his chair, his eyes glaring a level of intensity that John hadn't seen before now.

"Dad, what is it? Is it the demon?" He whispered, worried.

"What?" John flinched, surprised, "No, Dean," he replied in irritation. "No, it's not about that," he added.

"Oh," Dean responded, unsure how he had made the wrong move in his assumption. John sighed and dropped his hand onto the table.

"I wanted to apologize to Sam -to both of you, really-" he added, looking sincerely into Dean's eyes, "-for not having been there at the hospital."

At John's last words, Dean flinched with a grimace and looked away from John. Obviously, this was still a sore subject for Dean. John turned to look at Sam, his eyes pleading. Sam gave a slight smile, slowly warming up to John's apology, and then shrugged.

"It's okay, Dad," Sam said finally, simply. When John turned back to Dean, one son strong on the, 'forgiven,' balance sheet, he saw Dean's eyes light up with enthusiasm somewhere behind him. John turned around to see the waitress approaching and inwardly cringed at the timing of his apology. He should've launched into it after they'd given their orders.

They circled around their orders, and the waitress took off again. Dean made less of an effort to check her out now that he still had his dad's apology on his mind.

Nobody said anything after the waitress left; even the ten year old understood the tension still in the air, waiting to either strike lightning or dissipate depending on Dean's acceptance or rejection their father.

Dean sighed loudly and traced the glossy wood table with his fingers.

"Dean-?" John prompted.

"Yeah, Dad, it's forgotten," Dean replied, inwardly thinking, _but not forgiven_.

John could swear that he could read minds sometimes, knowing exactly what Dean was saying. It was painful to hear, but he couldn't, in good conscience, ask Dean for more. Dean resettled in his seat and coughed his intention to speak.

"I'm just wondering what Sam's diagnosis means to you," Dean said gently, looking up to his father again for the first time since his apology. John tilted his head, glancing at Sam, then back to his eldest.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean with hunting and training and stuff," Dean replied, nodding at Sam. Sam looked shocked, then turned to his father with wide eyes.

"I'm not going to have to stop training with you guys, am I?" Sam asked, alarmed. John was a deer in headlights for a second, then transformed his expression to sympathy at Sam's plea.

"No," he sounded out, "No, I don't see why we would, Sam," he said slowly, turning his gaze to Dean in confusion as Dean cocked an eyebrow in skepticism. Sam was relieved and breathed easy. John, on the other hand, was staring at Dean, who'd washed his hand over his face looking like he had the weight of the world thrown onto him.

"Dean- what?" John pushed. Dean looked at Sam, an apology clear in his eyes, then turned back to his father.

"There are gonna be some things Sam shouldn't do. Even more that he won't be able to do without direct supervision from one of us," Dean said heavily.

"Dean-" Sam said weakly, devastated that Dean was being the one to recommend an unjust change to the way things had always been. Dean turned to look at him.

"Sammy, I'm sorry, but-"

"Wait, though, what are we talking about?" John interrupted reasonably, and Dean turned back to his father. Before Dean could answer him, though, John reached out to his youngest.

"Hey, Sammy, calm down, buddy," he urged from across the table. Dean turned and realized that Sam was already starting to tear up. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's back and Sam, despite his current animosity towards his brother, leaned in. "What's going on?" John whispered solicitously to Dean, referring to Sam's unusual display of emotions. Dean rubbed Sam's side comfortingly as he spoke to John.

"He's really tired right now; the seizure in the pool today took a lot out of him, I think," Dean replied kindly. John winced in sympathy and Dean nodded knowingly. He bent lower over Sam, but John could still hear him.

"Sam, Sammy don't worry we don't have to talk about this right now, okay?"

John got in on Dean's message.

"Dean's right, Sam, nothing has to change right now, okay? Nothing's changing," John reassured. Sam let out a sob and Dean grasped him tighter.

"I… Just… I'm _sorry_!" Sam cried, and at the sound, John got out of his seat to crouch beside Sam.

"Hey, Sammy, this isn't your fault, buddy," John whispered calmly, and reached out. Dean nudged Sam a little bit and Sam moved forward towards their father in tears.

John was many things, and a bear-hugger was one of them. He wrapped his arms around his youngest and the kid just melted into him.

"Shh, Sammy, it's okay, it's not your fault. Nothing's gonna change," John repeated over and over again soothingly.

In the back of his mind, Dean was slightly happy they'd ordered involved dinners; no waitress or serving staff would interrupt this moment, and Dean knew Sam needed it. Dean looked around, too, wondering if they were making a scene. They'd lucked out on John's predilection for sitting in the backs of restaurants: only a few other patrons were seated near them, and while they got a few glances, it _was_ a family steakhouse. A crying ten year old probably wasn't news.

John's leg was falling asleep as his youngest was balanced on his knee. Emotionally spent, Sam was hiccupping a little bit, but for the most part just resting, his heartbeat synchronizing with John's. It was then that John looked up at Dean, and while Dean still seemed worried, he gave John a small smile. John returned the smile.

"Sorry about that," Dean mouthed, shrugging. John gave a twitched shake of his head, indicating that Dean shouldn't have been sorry.

"We'll talk later," John mouthed back, and a look of agreement and understanding passed between them.

John started rubbing Sam's back up and down.

"You okay, now, buddy?" John whispered. Sam lifted his head up off of John's shoulder and wiped his eyes. He sniffed a couple of times and nodded.

"Yeah?" John asked, prompting Sam to confirm verbally.

"Yeah," Sam said shakily, "Sorry about that," Sam said, sounding like an adult with a child's voice. John gave Sam a wide smile as Sam stood up from the bench of his father's thigh.

"It's okay, bud, it's always okay," he said calmly. He glanced at Dean for a second and then back to Sam. "You want to sit with me in the booth for right now?" He offered, not sure if he was going too far. In his peripheral vision, he could see Dean tense.

"No, it's okay," Sam mumbled, turning and climbing back into the bench seat next to Dean.

"You sure?" John asked as a last-minute check as he stood up and tried, with a lot of effort, not to wince at the pins and needles of feeling that burst and flowed through his leg. Sam sniffed a couple of times more as he got himself seated next to Dean who, feeling pretty guilty, now, put his arm around him again.

"Yeah, it's okay. Dean's the only one that knows-" and then Sam muttered something unintelligible. John, still standing to help his leg's circulation, didn't catch Sam's last words.

"Dean's the only one that knows what, Sammy?" John asked openly. Dean looked up and shrugged, yet again somewhat apologetically.

"I'm the only one that knows what to do if he has a seizure," Dean supplied John. Sam looked up timidly, uncertain.

"Ohh," John trailed off, thinking, as he slid into his seat. Both the boys watched him as he deliberated, staring at the table and nodding. Finally, he lifted his eyes to Dean and Sam, his eyebrows raised, a small smile playing on his face.

"Well, there's an easy solution to that, right?"

Dean gave a split-second squint of his eyes, then raised an eyebrow. Sam just waited on his father's words.

"I'll take a class. We could all take a class on it – or, I don't know, _something,_" John offered casually. Dean broke a hesitant smile and nodded.

"Yeah. There's a… Um, there's the Epilepsy Foundation. They have chapters all over the states. We could find a class there," Dean replied, his eyes twinkling with moisture that had everything to do with John's promise.

"Perfect," John slapped the table lightly, "Then there it is. That's what we'll do, okay?" John agreed, gleaming.

Sam gave a soft chuckle and nodded cheerfully. Dean, meanwhile, was just trying hard not to let any tears slide. He had a waitress to impress.

Their food arrived and the rest of the evening passed with fun conversation and banter about their everyday lives. Dean asked his father about any new hunts and John had shrugged, saying he was mostly holed up with Caleb doing research for random potential hunts. Sam talked about the book he was currently reading, Fahrenheit 451, and Dean chatted about how his father seriously had to see the movie, "Jurassic Park."

Sam, although not ever as crazy about action movies as Dean was, had to agree with his brother on Jurassic Park. It had been a lot of fun to watch.

"-Wait," John asked in the midst of Sam's agreeing praise, "How did you get in, Sam? Isn't it rated R?"

"Yeah I smuggled him in," Dean replied, chowing down on his filet without missing a beat. A moment of silence passed and Dean looked up, bewildered. "What?"

John glared at him for a second, and Dean sat back in his seat and stabbed his fork in the air at John.

"What. Ever! Sam hears and knows about things that would leave any other kid his age screaming in terror. He can _handle_ an R-rated movie, Dad," Dean made his point playfully, causing his Dad to start smiling, especially as he noticed Sam's mounting pride at Dean's words.

"Yeah, Dad!" Sam added, and looked at Dean, who nodded in approval. John laughed at the two of them and turned away, waving his hand.

"All right, all right," John acknowledged, and slowly turned back to look at the two of them. Dean's fork clattered onto the plate.

"Dean-" John started, about to mention that Dean should be more careful with the silverware.

"Dad, Sam's having a seizure," Dean interrupted, and angled himself towards Sam. John looked sharply at Sam, confused: the kid was just blinking.

Glancing at John and seeing his expression, Dean figured he'd make it clear to his Dad, and waved his hand within an inch of Sam's face. Sam didn't react, and continued to blink. John started, feeling the panicked need to do something, but Dean's relaxed tone of voice cut through him.

"It's an absence seizure. He just blanks out for a few seconds," Dean explained.

"Jesus," John said, alarmed.

"It's okay, Dad," Dean reassured, "Sam's actually done this for awhile now. I just never really knew…" He trailed off, but John got the point.

Suddenly, Sam snapped back to consciousness with a cough. He smiled down at the table and slumped back tiredly against the seat.

"Besides," Sam looked up at his father, "I really _liked_ Jurassic Park, Dad, so obviously I'm old enough for it," he reasoned. At his father's expression, Sam's face fell.

"What? What's wrong?" Sam looked at Dean, who gave him a small smile.

"Nothing, bud, you just taught Dad what an absence seizure looks like," Dean grinned. Sam's eyes widened and turned to look at his Dad. John gave a chuckle at Sam's expression.

"Hey buddy, it's cool. No worries," he said light-heartedly, and Sam softened, leaning back against the seat. John noticed Sam's eyes wander around the restaurant drowsily. Dean snapped his finger sharply, making John turn his way. Taking one last bite of his food, Dean looked at his father, nodded at their table, then cocked his head to the restaurant's exit. John gave an imperceptible nod of agreement.

"Okay well what do you guys think of getting back?" John announced good-naturedly. Sam grimaced and leaned forward towards his food.

"I haven't even finished," he whined. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was only ever annoying when he was tired… But that still made him annoying.

"Dude, we'll just get it wrapped up," Dean said, dismissing Sam's complaint.

"Fine," Sam drawled in his high-pitched voice, goofily leaning his face close to the plate. John inched his way out of the seat.

"All right, I'm gonna go pay. Dean-?" Dean looked up, still smiling at Sam's sleep-drunk behavior.

"Yeah?"

"You want to wave down a server to get the food packed up?"

Just as Dean was about to reply, Sam unexpectedly lurched backwards and Dean caught Sam's head from slamming into the back of the booth.

"SAM!" Dean yelled in annoyance, "What the _hell_, dude!" Sam turned to look at Dean with equal irritation.

"What?! It's cushioned!" Sam yelled back, turning around in his seat to look at the back of the booth. It was, in fact, _not_ cushioned where his head would've gone. "Oh," Sam said as he observed it. "Sorry," he added, looking at Dean. Dean shook his head and gave his Dad a look: _could we get going, please?_

"Okay okay I'm going," John said. He realized the scene he just witnessed had disturbed him a little bit more than the absence seizure had. Sam had to be more careful…

With their food packed up and ready to go, the family took their departure and piled into the Impala.

John had to admit that that had been one of the most eventful dinners he'd ever had. He glanced at Dean, who had just resettled himself from checking on Sam in the back.

"He asleep?"

"Yep," Dean nodded.

"So," John started, "that was an absence seizure?"

"Mmhm," Dean hummed in the positive.

"Does he get those often?"

"They come and go. I used to think he was just being a space cadet." Dean's reply was tinged with regret.

"You couldn't have known," John justified reasonably. Dean shrugged.

"Did you mean what you said?" Dean asked, looking up at his father. John glanced at him, confused.

"What?"

"That you'd take a class?"

"Yeah, yes. Absolutely," John nodded and tried to give his son as sincere an expression as possible while still driving safely.

"'Kay, 'cause," Dean paused, fiddling with a tape cassette in his hands. "That would really help me out," he admitted softly.

* * *

_Writer's Note: Please please please review, guys, because, I swear to god, I _need_ to hear what you thought of this chapter. Seriously. Seriouslyseriously. ;) ~ Alex_

_Writer's Note #2: Rereading the last chapter (Chapter 2) made me cringe. I've edited it so that I can be happy. I'm releasing the edited version at the exact same time I'm posting this chapter. So if anyone appreciated it the first time around, go ahead and take a gander at the edited version, if you're so inclined. I think I increased its length by somewhere around four-five hundred words. Thanks, guys! Cheers! ~ Alex _


	4. The Library

_Writer's Note: This is a crazy long chapter, but it'll probably be fun to read, I think. Spent an enormous amount of time doing research, but not even a quarter of it made it into this chapter. I'm sure the next chapter will involve the hospital where I can impress you all with my knowledge of acronyms such as AEDs and EEGs… And I'll even be trying my best guess at the meds Sam is going to go on (which really isn't that difficult to figure out, actually, as there were not a lot of epilepsy meds available in 1994 – plus, the med is the usual go-to for epilepsy in general: twenty guesses for what it is – hint: Please review! lol)._

_Additionally, I just want to say thank you to the reviews so far. Honestly, I'm getting a lot of appreciation for Clean Slate, but my heart is so much more into _this_ fic at the moment. Your input, feedback, and personal stories are making me feel like this is important - and that I should keep going with it. So I am._

_While this chapter is a bit Disneyworld, I hope you guys like it. Cheers! ~ Alex_

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Story 4 - The Library

Words: ~ 5,700

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**A Change of Plans**

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Karen and Lucy sipped their coffees, dully watching the kids play on the carpeted stadium in the cheerful, well-lit library where they were _supposed _to be reading. Instead, the kids often enjoyed feigning, 'falls,' off the highest level and landing on the brightly colored bean bags they had stolen and arranged on the floor. They made _themselves_ laugh, at least: getting into various poses and idly tipping themselves over until they fell. Karen's favorite was when they'd do the, 'Thinking Man,' pose, and then they'd give a last-minute character-breaking burst of laughter before disappearing from sight.

Karen and Lucy, best friends, and the two teachers of Team G, kept diligent eyes on the forty-some-odd fifth graders that made up their Team. The two of them often monitored the kids with sarcastic amusement at their goofy antics. Leaning against a couple of book cases next to one another, they'd finish their respective thermoses and call attention for the day's group activity.

Today, though, they were also waiting for someone to start the Team activity. Lucy looked at her watch. It was about nine in the morning.

"He should be coming by soon, right?" Lucy asked casually. Karen shrugged, her eyes narrowed on a small cluster of children that were playing with something that looked like an Elmer's Glue bottle.

"Luce, they're not sniffing that, right?" Karen asked calmly, nodding to the group. Lucy looked over.

"Nah they're just putting it on the backs of their hands and peeling it off after it dries," Lucy replied evenly.

"Ohhh," Karen smiled, nodding, "Okay got it. What were you saying?"

"Dean should be coming soon, right?"

Karen looked at her watch, frowned, and nodded her head.

"Yeah but he said he'd be a few minutes late. He's got to walk over from the high school."

"Mm," Lucy murmured in agreement, taking a sip of her coffee. Nancy, the librarian, walked over to them sporting a wide smile and bright blue eyes. Nancy, ever the scrap-booking hobbyist, kept the library's walls and bookshelves fully updated with educational posters and the childrens' artwork. Not a single surface was neglected. In fact, Lucy and Karen always preferred to lean against the poster of Patrick Stewart as Jean Luc Picard that encouraged kids to read.

"Hey guys!" She called to them energetically, her hands full of rolled-up posters and papers. Lucy and Karen turned to look at her, both accidentally giving her groggy morning expressions of distaste. "Whoa," Nancy responded to their attitudes as she fumbled around with her burden of laminated paper, "Jesus, guys, drink up," she said, gesturing to their coffees. Karen and Lucy started laughing.

"What's that?" Karen asked, nodding to the flyers in Nancy's hands.

"A surprise," Nancy replied, winking.

In honor of the day's special event for Team G, she'd ordered and received several Epilepsy Awareness and Seizure First Aid posters that could be used for the presentation and later posted around the library and school bulletin boards.

"I'm actually really looking forward to this. Did you guys know my nephew has epilepsy?"

"No way!" Lucy smiled graciously.

"Yep!"

"S'he okay?" Karen asked. She hadn't been the one to do the research on what this presentation was going to be, so she knew she'd likely be learning a few things during it along with the kids.

"Yeah, 'course he's okay. Touch and go with the dosage of his meds for awhile, but they got it to the right level."

"The _therapeutic_ level," Lucy dropped the term, causing Nancy to nod jokingly.

"Good job, Luce, you get a star," she replied sarcastically.

"Oh shit, did we forget the stars?" Karen suddenly spoke up.

"Uh I don't know," Lucy replied, turning around to shuffle through their stuff.

"The kids won't raise their hands after awhile if we don't give them stars," Karen added.

"Don't worry I've got stars in my desk if you need them," Nancy assured them, and Lucy stopped searching, "But I almost guarantee you that you won't need them. Kids are gonna be pretty fascinated with this, I bet."

"Yeah, maybe," Karen commented doubtfully.

"Kare – _you're_ going to be fascinated," Lucy said emphatically. "Seriously I spent hours looking at this stuff. It's fascinating. The kids'll love it, I think."

Karen shrugged, not yet convinced, but willing to go with Nancy and Lucy on the subject.

At that moment, the doors to the library opened and Lucy looked around to see Dean Winchester stroll into the library. He wore a dark, muted colors and a long-sleeved army green jacket with the collar flipped up. He spotted Lucy and, 'cheered,' her with his own thermos of coffee as he approached.

"Ah here he is," Lucy announced. Karen and Nancy turned around.

"_That's_ Sam's brother?" Karen asked, surprised at how much older the kid seemed. Dean looked, 'cool,' even to _them_, and it bolstered their excitement for the presentation, as they knew the kids would think Dean looked, 'cool,' too.

"Yeah, what?" Lucy whispered back. Karen shrugged it off.

"Hey Dean, how are you?" Lucy asked kindly as he stopped before them.

"I'm good, yeah, good morning," he said amiably, addressing all three of them. Most teenagers were awkward in the company of adults, but Dean was exuding the sense that he was entirely on their level. Lucy had already met Dean, so she'd already known, but Nancy and Karen were just realizing that he was more than able to be a major contributor to this presentation. Hell, he was likely to make it a, 'hit.' They went through introductions, with Lucy introducing Dean to Karen and Nancy. Dean's handshake was practiced: an easy, casually firm grip that lent itself to the perception that Dean was a self-confident, easy-going young man.

"So we gonna start this? Are we going with the bracelets first?" He asked, interested, as he fumbled distractedly in his pockets and pulled out a worn pad of paper.

Impressed with Dean's bearing, Nancy smiled.

"I _think_ so, but I think I'm just going to go where the kids take me," Lucy replied. She often improvised her presentations, trusting her knowledge to give a well-rounded performance no matter what. "Have you prepared stuff yourself?" Lucy added, looking at Dean's pad.

"Yep. I'll make sure to speak up if and when the time's right."

"'Kay, yeah. Don't let us steamroll over you if you have something to say. And especially if Sam has something to say."

Dean winked.

"That won't be a problem."

Dean took a sip of his coffee and while, normally, Nancy would be the first to gripe at a teenager for drinking coffee, it seemed an inappropriate comment for Dean. He behaved like an adult and so it felt out of place to mention that coffee stunts growth. Besides, he kind of towered over them already at five foot eight.

Dean looked around as he held the mug to his face, then lowered it and swallowed, speaking up immediately after:

"Where's Sam?"

"He's usually reading in the back," Nancy supplied and Dean smiled.

"You want to go get him? We'll round the kids up after you guys come out."

"Yeah sure, a corner in the back, or just the back?" Dean asked as he began to walk away in the general direction. Nancy raised her eyebrows and pointed.

"Ah, just, like, get to the back – You'll spot him in that hallway," Nancy called out.

"Okay see you guys in a few minutes," Dean winked again, smiling, as he made his way to greet Sam.

Karen, Nancy, and Lucy turned back to each other.

"Okay, I bet this is going to be good," Karen said, grinning knowingly. Lucy and Nancy laughed, understanding Karen's implicit message: Dean was going to be the showcase of this thing. His words would be like _gold_ with these kids.

…

"Okay guys, c'mon, sit down on the stadium – Sit down! C'mon," Karen ushered as the kids swarmed around the stadium blocks to figure out where they'd settle themselves.

"C'mon, Sit down… Good job, Katie, Matthew c'mon… Matthew. MATTHEW!"

Nancy and Lucy were setting up the easel so they could put their posters up at the start of the presentation. Dean and Sam were already seated on the top-most corner of the stadium. Dean was leaned back, resting one arm behind his little brother as Sam was hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, paying close attention.

As the kids started coming out of the woodwork – out from the various library aisles and nooks and onto the blocks for the presentation, the usual swarm of shrieks, calls and yells that would punctuate their excitement fell to silence as they noticed Dean.

"Who's THAT!?" Christine shouted, pointing at Dean and looking up at Karen. Dean chuckled.

"I'll introduce you to him once you sit down, young lady," Karen shot back, and, with widened eyes, Christine ran and plunked herself down. She turned and stared, unabashed, at Dean Winchester. Dean waved, enjoying the celebrity status, and Christine lit up and waved back.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Dean turned away from Christine and looked at the boy standing directly in front of him. He wore a smug expression as he crossed his arms.

"You're not supposed to be here. You're not a teacher," he repeated obnoxiously. Dean noted that he was much bigger than Sam and narrowed his eyes at the kid.

"Says who?"

"Says me!" The kid replied.

"Sit down, kid," Dean said dismissively.

"ROB! SIT. DOWN," Karen shouted from the floor, having just spotted him. Rob flinched and, with a nasty look towards Dean, stepped down one block and settled himself. He was one of the last of the kids to sit and slowly, things were finally starting to come to order.

"That the kid you were talking about before?" Dean whispered into Sam's ear. Sam just gave a small nod and Dean frowned, leaning back again. A second later he moved up to Sam's ear again. "You nervous?" He said, smiling. Sam flinched, and slapped Dean in the stomach. Dean gave a huff and started laughing; Sam joining in two beats later.

"No I'm not nervous."

"Ah, liar."

Sam tried hard not to smile at Dean, then turned back to focus on the presentation.

"Okay maybe a little bit," he replied. Sam heard Dean chuckling and felt his big brother rub his back for a second in silent support.

"Okay guys, are we good? Settled? Peter, stop bothering Alex," Karen disciplined. Peter stopped bothering Alex and the two of them refocused to the front. "Okay guys, we're going to listen to Ms. Lucy and Ms. Nancy like we always do, right?" Karen asked.

The whole class drawled, "Yes, Ms. Karen," loudly. Karen smiled.

"Good! Now, I want to introduce someone that I know you've all noticed by now-"

Immediately about thirty-five heads swiveled in Dean's direction and Karen couldn't help but laugh.

"Guys, this is Dean. He's going to help us with the presentation. And we want _you_ guys to help us, too, okay?" Karen said slowly, articulating herself so the kids could understand.

Dean raised his hand and waved to the kids good-naturedly.

"Hey guys," he said lightly.

"Hi Dean!" One child shouted, and the rest of the class followed, nearly screaming their respective hellos in excitement, causing Dean (and Sam) to laugh.

"SETTLE DOWN!" Karen shouted dramatically, and the kids started to relax and quiet. Karen was almost always the, 'wrangler,' when it came to things like this. Lucy tended not to raise her voice as often.

"Okay, so I'm turning this over to Lucy and Nancy. I'm going to be learning with you guys, too, so I'm going to sit over here-" Karen said cheerfully as she made some kids move over so she could sit. She gestured to Lucy and Nancy.

"Okay guys, how are you today?" She asked. The kids shouted their feelings: the consensus was, "good."

"Good! Okay we're going to be talking about _medical conditions_. Does anyone know what a medical condition is?"

As Lucy chose on a student's raised hand, Sam leaned back and whispered to Dean.

"This is gonna take awhile if kids don't know what medical conditions are, Dean," Sam said skeptically.

Dean chuckled, shook his head, and whispered back.

"You said Lucy was a good teacher; she's just warming up, right?" Dean asked. Sam conceded, bopping his head until he replied back.

"Yeah probably."

They both turned back to look at Lucy.

"Okay, so what are some medical conditions we know about? Do you guys know? Alex?"

"ARTHRITIS!" Alex yelled out.

Karen looked over at Alex with slight disapproval, then looked back at Lucy, who was talking with Nancy. It looked like they had come to a conclusion on something and Lucy turned back to the kids.

"Yes, Alex, great job. There's even such a thing as Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis that affects kids like you guys," Lucy informed, and Karen raised her eyebrows in surprise. Lucy continued the class discussion. "What other conditions do you know about? Tom?"

"I have allergies!"

"Allergies are a really good one, Tom, good job. Sometimes different people can't eat certain foods because it'll make them sick. Peanut and shellfish allergies, for example, can be really dangerous to certain people. What else? Susan?"

"What about diabetes? My mom has diabetes," Susan offered.

"Diabetes, absolutely. Diabetes is when you have to pay attention to how much sugar is in your body. Can anyone think of any other medical conditions? Peter?"

"Down's syndrome?"

The class, 'aw'-ed at the reference, realizing they, too, knew about that condition.

"_Down_ Syndrome is another one, yeah, Peter, good job on recall! Do you guys remember the presentation we did on Down Syndrome earlier this year?"

Everyone in the class called out that they had, in fact, remembered the presentation on that.

"Okay, so we've gone through _some_ really common medical conditions that can affect kids like you guys, but you guys _haven't_ found the one that we're going to talk about today. Can anyone try guessing what it is?" Lucy led the class, hoping that someone would get it.

The kids lapsed into heavy thought. Sam and Dean were trying not to laugh. After about a minute, Lucy looked somewhat disappointed.

"Should you enlighten them or should I?" Dean whispered to Sam. Sam smiled back.

"You do it," Sam whispered back, feeling like the timing wasn't right. He felt kind of cool – like he was waiting in the wings to reveal his secret identity. The kids didn't even know Dean was his brother yet.

Dean shot his hand into the air, coughing loudly, and the whole flock of kids raised their eyes up to him.

"Dean! What say you?" Lucy called on him dramatically. The kids didn't pick up on the goofy speech of their teacher, though, their eyes glued on Dean.

"How… About…" Dean drawled slowly, getting the kids on the edges of their seats. A pin dropping could've been heard as the kids strained to hear him: "Epilepsy!?" He stage whispered as if it was a cool secret. Immediately the entire group of kids started whispering mispronunciations of the word, 'Epilepsy.'

"Epilepsy?" Lucy asked, feigning confusion playfully. Dean caught on fast.

"Epilepsy, Ms. Lucy," Dean replied, feigning utter seriousness, and noticed Sam was giggling next to him. Lucy turned to the rest of the class.

"Who can say it?" She appealed to the crowd. Suddenly, an onslaught of mispronunciations rang out.

"ESPILESCOPY!"

"EPILESPY"

"ESPELES-_POO_!" Shouted one of the kids, making them all burst into laughter, including Sam. Lucy took this as her cue to open the easel to reveal a large sign that read, "EPILEPSY," and start hushing the kids.

"All right, guys, sound it out with me: Eh-Pill-Ep-See…"

The kids sounded it out. Lucy asked them to pronounce it properly together, which they did in a cheerful chorus. Dean, Sam, and even Karen joined in, just for the fun of it.

"Okay good. Now that we know how to say it, who knows anything about it?"

Complete silence only excited Lucy further. This would be the first time any of these kids would learn about Epilepsy and she wanted to make sure she did it right. Dean leaned forward at the silence, realizing the same thing. As he leaned in, he felt Sam's hand move over onto his knee, uncertain. Dean set his hand over Sam's and narrowed his eyes, waiting for Lucy.

"All right. So we're going to talk about Epilepsy. Epilepsy has a _lot_ to do with _seizures_. Does anybody know what seizures are?"

"Oh! _OH!"_ Alex raised her hand high in the air.

"Alex, you know about seizures?" Lucy asked, surprised.

"Yeah! I watch ER with my family and sometimes the people in them have seizures!" She said breathlessly, excited. Lucy blinked and tilted her head to the side, nodding.

"Yeah, actually. Does anybody else watch ER?"

About sixty percent of the class raised their hands.

"Wow," Karen murmured from her spot, impressed by the number of kids that watched ER. Suddenly, Dean's voice boomed out around the library.

"How many of you guys want to be doctors or lifeguards or paramedics when you grow up?" Dean asked, his eyes sparkling with expectation. At this, Dean felt Sam's hand remove itself from his knee to be raised up in the air along with about twenty-five to thirty other hands. Dean glanced at Sam, grinning, then out to the rest of them.

"That's _awesome_! So, pay attention to this," Dean smiled, looking at all of them sincerely, and gesturing to Lucy with his thermos.

The kids who had all raised their hands tore their gazes away from Dean and back to Lucy, now on a mission to pay attention if it meant they could fulfill their dreams of being doctors.

Lucy was impressed by Dean's reframing of the topic and was greeted to a full blast of undivided attention.

"So, Alex," Lucy gathered herself and turned back to Alex, who was now on full alert. "Alex, what do seizures look like in ER?"

Before Lucy could stop her, Alex shouted back:

"They look like this!" And, with the innocence of a ten year old, proceeded to shake and flail around in her seat, making the entire class burst into laughter. Dean startled, his expression turning from light-hearted to concerned anger in the space of a second.

"ALEX! Stop!" Lucy yelled. She glanced at Dean and bit her lip as she approached Alex to restrain her from continuing. Lucy knew Alex, though: she was a clown (along with her friend, Peter), not a bully. She didn't mean to be insensitive; she was just taking advantage of the physical humor.

Dean, meanwhile, put his hand on Sam's back, noticing that Sam had covered his mouth, staring at Alex. He felt a small tremor along Sam's back and, leaning forward, tried to get a gauge on how Sam was feeling.

"God, Alex, STOP!" Lucy called out. Just then Alex, in cahoots with Peter, turned around and deliberately slapped him in face, making the entire class burst into laughter again as Alex and Peter began having a fake slap-fight with one another. Dean felt Sam start to shake and, worried Sam's feelings were being hurt, pulled his kid brother's hand away from his mouth to see his face.

Sam was actually laughing.

Karen pulled Alex away from Peter and had them separated. Alex was ordered to go sit over closer to Sam and Dean.

"OKAY!" Lucy announced, slightly peeved, but when she saw Sam's genuine smile over the whole ordeal, and Dean's gentle nod in her direction, she felt better.

"Okay, so, that's not exactly how I wanted you guys to, 'learn,'" Lucy air-quoted, "-about what a seizure looks like, but now that Alex has so _wonderfully_ demonstrated," Lucy's sarcasm was crystal clear and Sam shuddered with laughter again, "I'm wondering if you guys are familiar with what seizures are _now_?"

The whole class, now, raised their hands. Lucy blinked in surprise.

"Really?" She asked. The class called back in the affirmative.

"Uh, okay," she replied, slightly confused but willing to continue. Perhaps Alex's goofy rendition of a seizure triggered their memories of movies they'd seen of people having seizures or something.

"Okay, so. Let's move on, then. You all laughed at Alex when she pretended to have a seizure, right?"

The class giggled a little bit, reliving the moment, and nodding.

"Right. So you guys laughed. But, do you think _real life_ seizures are funny?" Lucy asked, hoping like hell they'd give her the right answer.

Just then, Dean's hand shot up in the air.

"Dean?" Lucy called immediately, and everyone turned around to look at Dean.

"_No_," Dean said emphatically. Sam turned to look at Dean, too, interested to hear what his brother had to say.

"Could you explain why you don't think seizures are funny, Dean?" Lucy asked. Dean smiled, licked his lips, and leaned forward, looking at the entire class – hitting eye contact with as many of the kids as possible.

"So, the seizure I think Alex was pretending to have is called a Grand Mal, or a Generalized Tonic-Clonic seizure. That type of seizure, especially, has the potential to hurt the person that's having them. So, when you see somebody that's having _that type_ of seizure, it's not funny, because they could be in danger."

Lucy, ever the improvisational teacher, flipped a page of the easel and wrote while Dean was speaking: "What To Do During Grand Mal Seizures," and then beneath it, two categories: "Do's," and, "Don't's." She turned back around and silence greeted her: the kids were still staring at Dean with respect. Smiling, Lucy spoke up and the kids turned their attention back to her.

"I want to see hands, again, of the kids that want to be doctors or medical professionals," Lucy announced.

A flurry of hands went up again, including Rob's.

"Rob," Lucy pointed to the boy that had told Dean he wasn't meant to be there. "Rob, what do you think _you_ could do if someone had a seizure - to stop them from being in danger?"

"Um," Rob said, uncertain, "Give them medicine?"

Lucy smiled.

"Good try, but no," she said as she wrote Rob's answer under the, 'Don't,' category. She turned back around, "This goes for _all_ seizures, you're _never_ supposed to give food or drinks to the person having a seizure."

At this, Dean interjected.

"You're not even supposed to give CPR during a seizure – one rule of thumb, guys: _Never_ go near the person's mouth with _anything_."

At that, Susan raised her hand. Lucy turned and nodded to her student.

"I thought you were supposed to put something in their mouths-"

"NO!" Sam and Dean yelled together from the other side of the stadium blocks. Dean started laughing with Sam and leaned forward to explain as Lucy turned around to write, "Put something in the mouth," under, 'Don't's.'

"Susan," Dean said kindly, "It's dangerous when you put anything in the mouth of someone who is seizing. The reason why is because when they're jerking and shaking around, their breathing is sometimes _not normal_, and so you _never_ want to put anything in their mouths that could block their airways. Do you understand?" Dean added, wondering if he had made sense. Susan nodded, mouthing the words, 'okay,' to Dean.

"Okay, who else? Who else thinks they know what to do when someone is having a seizure? Joey?"

"Hold them? Like hold them down? In ER when patients start having seizures, the doctors hold them down in the beds," Joey explained. Lucy smiled again, somewhat sadly, as ER was doing a terrible job with awareness on the seizure front.

"Okay. Excellent reasoning, Joey, buuut," Lucy drawled as she wrote, 'restrain/hold the person down,' under the, 'don't's' category. The class let out a disappointed, "Awww," on Joey's behalf.

"Sorry, Joey, but no. You're not supposed to hold them down. The reason being that the person who's seizing could hurt _you_ and they can also hurt _themselves_ when and if they hit you during the seizure."

"Is there a way to make a person _stop_ seizing?" Alex called out her question without having raised her hand.

Behind her, Dean leaned forward to answer. Again, the children's eyes gravitated towards Dean's.

"The answer to that is _no_. Never. You always have to wait the seizure out. You have to wait for the person to seize to stop seizing."

"Right, so, let's review, guys," Lucy announced after letting a few moments pass for Dean's words sink in.

"If you can't give them medicine, put anything in their mouths, or hold them down during a seizure, and all you can do is _wait_ for the seizure to stop, what stuff can you do to make the person who's seizing _safe_?"

At this, Sam raised his hand. Dean cocked his head to the side, a satisfied smile on his face. Lucy was radiant as she called on Sam. He took a heavy breath and launched into the, 'big reveal.'

"If I start seizing, you're supposed to clear the area and make sure that I don't hit a lot of stuff," Sam trailed off as everyone's eyes turned to him in confusion. Sam looked over at Dean, who gave him a few encouraging nods, and Sam turned back around to his class. He gulped. "Turn me on my side and time the seizure, if you can. Anything over five minutes means 9-1-1, but I've never had to go to the hospital – most of my seizures are like two minutes tops," he finished, blushing as his peers started whispering in awe.

"Whoa, cool," Sam could hear a kid nearby murmur. Sam suddenly felt the sense of celebrity that Dean had had all along as the kids' whispers got louder about how Sam had epilepsy.

"Also," Sam's voice rang out, "A pillow would be nice! – During the seizure, I mean," he added with comedic flare, and the class burst into laughter. Dean was delighted to watch the whole class become enamored with Sam.

Lucy, grinning ear to ear, brought attention called out to the class.

"Yep, guys, the cat's out of the bag. We have someone with Epilepsy right here in this very room and Dean, here, is Dean _Winchester_, Sam's brother. They are _experts_ in Epilepsy."

The whole class, 'Oh'ed and, 'Ah,'ed in awed understanding.

Now, they were really excited. And Sam felt like a superstar as Lucy continued the presentation, every once in awhile deferring to Sam and Dean's comments as she led the class through understanding what Epilepsy was – and particularly that not all seizures were the big, shaking ones most often seen on television. She went through partial simple and complex seizures as well as the other types of generalized seizures besides the grand mals. Sam got to explain the myoclonic seizures he had, as he was always aware of them when they happened.

"Usually it's just like, my hand or leg or whatever," he shared, "But, like, I won't _slap_ anybody," he quipped, looking straight at Alex and making the crowd start cracking up again.

When Lucy got to absence seizures, Sam was eager to point out that she'd mispronounced the word.

"It's pronounced, '_Abs-au-nce_ seizures,' not, '_ab-since_,' Ms. Lucy," he'd said respectfully, and, thrilled, Lucy changed her pronunciation immediately.

And when Lucy got to Atonic, or drop attack seizures, Sam almost had the kids rolling on the floor about how he once fell into a plate of spaghetti. Dean remembered that moment and started laughing out loud, too, recalling his joking reply to Sam when he'd come to: he had been, 'totally sauced.'

As the time passed, Lucy noticed that Dean was, while paying rapt attention, fading out more and more in his contributions to the discussion. In equal measure, Sam was getting more talkative, and Lucy realized she was probably witnessing one of Sam's first experiences in self-advocacy for his condition.

"All right, guys, so now we know about different types of seizures, and we've had a few good laughs, but what did Dean say earlier about seizures?"

By now, Dean had said so much – as had Sam – that the kids were at a loss. Lucy smiled.

"Are they funny?" She prompted.

"NO!" The kids shouted, giggling.

"You guys are giggling. I want you guys to settle down because this next part is _really_ important. We don't have that much time left to talk about it, either, so you all _NEED _to _Pay. Attention_. Do you understand?" Lucy asked, her voice calm, steady, and serious. She was lying about the time, but it was a speaking strategy that made the kids listen more closely.

She pulled a sheet over on the easel and, in large block letters, wrote, "Postictal period."

Dean leaned forward and put his arm around Sam, his hand over his mouth. Sam turned and noticed his brother's, 'serious face.' Sam didn't know it, but _this_ was the part that Dean wanted the kids to hear, and take to heart, the most.

"Okay, so-" Lucy stood back up and looked around at the kids she was teaching. "No joking anymore, promise?"

The kids promised.

"After _any _type of seizure, a lot of times there can be a Postictal period. A postictal period is something where the person that just had a seizure wakes up and," Lucy bent down and wrote the words she spoke on the board as bullet points, "they can feel _confused_, _tired_ - or sleepy-, they can have _headaches_, or _feel sick_ to their stomachs," she finished. She stood back up and looked at the class. "Sometimes they have a hard time speaking or walking, too," she added meaningfully. "Okay?"

The class was silent, and Sam didn't know what to say. Ms. Lucy had just laid out every symptom that he had ever had in the aftermath of a seizure, plus a few he hadn't had, but, no matter what, all of them _sucked_. He didn't feel like going into it any further. He felt Dean press him into a hug before letting go and leaning towards the class. Sam turned to look at him, surprised, as Dean coughed for attention.

"The biggest thing you guys have to know is that, when a _real_ seizure happens with _anybody_, not just Sam, _anybody_, you've _got_ to call for an adult and make sure they're taken care of. You need to make their surroundings clear and safe and, when they wake up, you _need_ to be patient and careful with how they're feeling. Seizures are _exhausting and painful_, sometimes. So, when someone wakes up after a seizure, you've _got_ to make sure that you give them the time – _as much time as they need_ - to recover by _helping_ them rest and by being _supportive_. Because they're _not_ happy campers when they've just woken up," Dean finished, trying to tack on some brevity at the end, but failing. The kids just stared at Dean, looking relatively stricken.

"Dean is absolutely right, guys," Lucy replied loudly, and the kids slowly turned back to the presentation, giving Dean a couple double-takes as they did so. Sam, however, remained looking at Dean. He leaned in to whisper to his big brother.

"I think you scared them a little bit."

"What? Really?" Dean asked, surprised. He hadn't known his tone had gotten edgier as he'd spoken. Sam gave a small laugh.

"Yeah it sounded like you were gonna hurt somebody," Sam replied.

"Nah, I'm not gonna hurt anybody," Dean answered lightly, smiling, and took a sip of his, now cold, coffee. He tilted his head, reconsidering. "Well, maybe-"

"Dean!" Sam whispered in laughter.

"If they don't do as I just said, I might hurt them," Dean explained, winking at Sam who, in turn, gave a small punch to his older brother. Dean gave a few silent laughs and put his arm around his brother again. Sam leaned into him, this time, and, after a few minutes, turned around and suddenly came up _really_ close to Dean's ear. Confused, Dean hunched down and furrowed his brows, intent on listening to whatever Sam would say that needed to be _so_ quiet.

"Thank you," Sam barely whispered. Dean squeezed Sam as he quickly resettled himself to face towards the front again.

* * *

_Writer's End Note: Thank you so much for reading and please please let me know what you thought. In case you were wondering, I totally deliberately inserted myself at ten into this scene. Guess what childhood medical condition _I_ had, haha! Cheers, guys! ~ Alex_


	5. Plucky's (Part 1)

_Writer's Note: So, while no hospital scene this time, I'm sure it'll come soon. This one event just kept nagging at me. I kind of want to give you guys a _**_warning_**_, though_: _this chapter is sort of creepy and there's some accidental child abuse happening. Just thought I'd mention it. ~ Alex Kerr_

* * *

Story 5 - Plucky's (Part 1)

Words: ~ 4,400

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

"_God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work."_

– _Dean Winchester, 'Faith.'_

* * *

"Sam. _SAM!"_ Dean whispered vehemently in the old hoodoo shop. Sam turned around, surprised, and acquiesced to Dean's quick step and reach, harshly grabbing Sam's arm. Sam stumbled forward, knocking into Dean's side, and Dean kept him there, his hand on his shoulder.

"Ah, Dean…" Sam said in an undertone. Dean's hand had clamped down on his shoulder blade. Dean immediately loosened his grip, but kept his hand where it was.

"Sorry," he murmured genuinely before turning back to the elderly man just approaching the counter from a back room. He carried a large brown paper bag in his hands and set it down in front of them, eyeing the label.

"All right, 'Winchester?'"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. The man gave Dean the creeps, as did the entire shop, but he flashed a crisp smile as the man nodded and rummaged through the bag's contents.

"All right that'll be seventy-six dollars."

"Straight?" Dean asked, surprised no tax had been tacked on. The man at the desk chuckled, shaking his head.

"Son, we don't report _these_ sales," he said slyly, glancing at the bag and back at Dean with a slow wink.

Dean swallowed and couldn't help a look of disgust. He looked down quickly to hide his expression and find the cash in his pocket. At the same time, he moved his hand on Sam's shoulder around to his chest, pulling his brother's back closer against his side. Sam let him, still seemingly absent - fascinated by the trinkets around the small store.

"Here you go," Dean set the money on the counter and grabbed the bag. "C'mon Sam," Dean whispered, pressuring his arm wrapped around his brother. Sam followed suit without complaint, but awkwardly shambled under Dean's overbearing presence. Sam reached the door first, but Dean had already reached forward to open it for Sam to walk through.

When they got back into the light of day (the shop had been dimly lit and poorly ventilated), Dean loosened his grip on Sam, feeling some of his unease lift.

"Dean!" Sam slapped Dean's arm away sharply. "What the _hell_!" He asked, stopping dead and facing his brother in the middle of the sidewalk. Dean, caught off guard, stopped to look at Sam blankly.

"What?"

"Listen, I get what happened last week. I really do. But you gotta lay off, man!" Sam hissed.

"Lay off with _what_?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"You! You're constantly standing over me – If I'm not like two inches away from you, you totally flip out!"

"Sam, I just want you to be _safe_-" Dean stressed, but Sam cut him off.

"I'm _safe_! I'm _safe_, Dean! _God!_ What happened last week was a total fluke!"

"Sam-" Dean pointed at his brother, warning in his tone.

"_Seriously_! Last week I needed you and you weren't there for like… Two seconds. But then you were. And everything's fine, now! So _stop!_" Sam's voice broke at his last word. "Please, Dean, just stop?" Sam begged, his eyes watery.

Dean watched the quick transformation Sam had made from angry brat to pleading little brother. His reactions matched Sam – from annoyed teenager to sympathetic big brother.

Looking into Sam's eyes was tough; Dean so wanted to give Sam the independence he was asking for…

Dean licked his lips in a grimace, regret and conviction battling each other in his reply.

"Sam, I won't stop until we get out of Louisiana."

"-Dean!" Sam said, his voice small. He was on the brink of tears; frustrated and helpless by how stiflingly unbearable Dean had become with him.

Dean felt for his little brother, he really did, but not as much as he feared the inhabitants of this small, run-down town.

"Sam- Sam? Listen to me," he said as he crouched down and pulled Sam towards him. Sam stepped forward, turning his head down so Dean couldn't look into his eyes. Dean pressed forward, though. "Listen, I _promise_ you, when we get out of here, I'll be better. You just need to deal with it for right now, okay? I know it's hard…"

Dean saw a tear fall from Sam's down-turned face.

"Hey-" Dean moved his hand to the side of Sam's face, "C'mon, Sammy, seriously, it's just for now. It's just with these people-"

Sam nodded and suppressed a sob.

"Sam-" Dean replied to Sam's cry and reached out for a hug. Sam moved into it, his breath gasping with a mixture of relief and frustration.

"Sammy, this is just temporary, I swear-" Dean said lightly, trying to get Sam to relax. He rubbed Sam's back as he felt the kid's body tremble slightly. After a few moments, Sam got it together enough to speak back.

"It's not!" Sam inhaled fast after that, but continued. "It's not temp-temporary, Dean. There's- s'always gonna be people…" Sam couldn't continue, breaking down in Dean's arms.

"Sh, Sammy, calm down," Dean replied smoothly, "Calm down and I'll tell you my answer to what you just said," Dean whispered, "Just calm down for me, okay? I have a fact for you," Dean lured. He waited for him patiently, holding Sam loosely as the kid pulled himself together.

"Okay you ready? Ready for this?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered reluctantly.

"Okay," Dean rubbed Sam's back and shoulders, a signal that he wanted Sam to move back and look at him in the eyes. Sam did so, staring at Dean with an unmistakable doubt, yet a readiness to hope.

"All right. Listen to me," Dean thought about his next words, choosing them very carefully: "This place is… Really… Disturbing-"

"-But we're hunters… Every place is disturbing-" Sam trailed off as Dean shook his head meaningfully.

"No, no. That's not what I mean," Dean paused, then sighed. "I mean it's especially disturbing when it comes to something like Epilepsy."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion and Dean bit his lip with worry, not sure if he was making the right choice about informing Sam about this… But it was either that, or Sam thinking _anyone_ could be like this about Epilepsy.

So, Dean chose the lesser of the two evils… And, luckily, the more accurate one.

"Sammy, people in small towns like this – and in this region there's been a lot of superstitions and religions intermixing for so long – they react to a lot of things… really… Strangely…" Dean trailed off, trying so hard to telepathically convey his meaning, but Sam still looked confused and gave a shake of his head.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam asked bluntly, his curiosity having completely dashed any remnants of sadness he was feeling. At least Dean's blithering had brought around that change in disposition; Dean was thankful for it.

"Okay. Um," Dean looked around, suddenly realizing they were in public.

"Let's go home and I'll explain it to you when we're not around people."

Dean got up and grabbed Sam's hand, holding it close to him as they started down the sidewalk. Sam, used to it by now, was compliant to Dean's need for him to be so close. He literally followed in-step with Dean, now, which was tough, because Dean had started to walk a lot faster when they were around town and Sam had to double-time his stride at every step of Dean's.

After a few minutes of walking, Sam's curiosity got the better of him.

"Dean?" He murmured, his voice small.

"Yeah?"

"Is what you're going to tell me at the motel. Does it have to do with what happened last week?"

Sam saw Dean's jaw clench as he determinedly stared forward, unwilling to answer the question. Sam knew the answer to his question, now, just by that look. But he wanted to hear Dean say it.

"Dean-?" Sam prompted.

Dean's demeanor shifted instantly – his carefree façade switched on, Dean glanced at his brother with a crooked smile and shrugged.

"Eh, yeah, a little bit. I'll tell ya when we get home. What movie you want to watch tonight? We should stop off at the video store."

"Hook," Sam said emphatically.

"What about the Terminator?"

"Can we do both?!"

"Yeah let's do both. Movie marathon tonight."

"Yes!" Sam fist pumped the air, causing Dean to laugh. Inwardly, he was hoping that by the time they'd reached the motel, Sam would have forgotten to ask about Dean's promised explanation. Either that, or that their Dad would be home to talk about it to Sam. Because, honestly, the last thing Dean wanted to talk about was last week - the first day they'd arrived in town.

"Hey- Sam!" Dean turned around in the passenger seat.

"What?" Sam replied in an undertone, his interest obviously still in his book despite Dean's enthusiasm.

"Look! This town has a Plucky's!" Dean ribbed.

Sam looked up with disgust, turning to see where Dean was pointing out the windows.

"Dean-" Sam warned.

"C'mon! Why not?!" Dean joked.

"-Because you'll leave me there - you _always_ do - and it's always creepy as shit!" Sam whined, half playing along with Dean, half genuinely angry at the memories he was conjuring up.

"Language, Sam," John called out. Sam and Dean ignored him.

"I won't leave you," Dean insisted, acting as though such a thing never happened. Sam glared at his brother from the backseat.

"Yes you will."

"No I won't."

John waited a few seconds, wondering if they'd leave it at that. Dean turned around to face the windshield. Then a small voice broke out from the backseat.

"Yes you will," Sam said bitterly.

"_No_, I _won't_!" Dean turned around and yelled back.

"Guys, cool it!" John called, not keenly interested to hear his sons continue to say the same three words back and forth to one another. The boys let it go at his request and Dean settled in the passenger seat once again.

Dean surveyed the small, rundown Louisiana town as John drove the Impala through its potholed streets. It was way off the grid, but still relatively close to New Orleans. Voodoo and magic was a matter of gossip, not superstition here. Dean stared at a series of dilapidated houses that ran with the main street (aptly titled, 'Main Street') with a grimace.

"You know, Dad, if this is how the houses look, how do you think the motel's gonna be?" Dean asked. John glanced over to his eldest and they shared a mutual look of apprehension.

"I guess we'll see," John finally answered.

A few minutes later, as they rolled into a small dirt parking lot of the motel (which only held five rooms), the facility was as old and rickety as expected. Sam was alert, now, looking out of his side window, a pained expression on his face.

"It looks like it's going to collapse," Sam whispered, not meaning to be funny. Dean snorted anyway.

"Ah," John said, squinting as he appraised the shambled structure after he'd parked. "It's not going to collapse," he finished, sounding like he had just reached the conclusion himself. "All right, everybody out."

Dean popped out of the passenger seat and, as he walked to the trunk of the Impala, Sam tagging along behind him, turned around casually and whispered to his brother.

"You'd think this motel was the hunt."

Sam's eyes widened, nodding.

"Yeah really," he agreed in his own whisper.

"I can hear you," John said conversationally, almost comically, from behind the car. The boys and their father started pulling out their belongings and equipment to take into the room (all three were loathe to make more than one trip).

"Dad, so, what _has_ got us here in the middle of nowheresville?"

"Ah," John murmured dismissively, "It's probably nothing actually." John shut the trunk and they ambled towards the office. "This place has a lot of hoaxes; a lot of ridiculous claims with the supernatural. We're here for a possible demon possession, but if you look at their stats, it might've just been coincidence that they _finally_ got the details right."

"Oh, like, so they say a lot of people are possessed, but none of them are?" Sam rephrased. John opened the door to the office, ignoring Sam for the moment when he went up to the counter. Sam followed Dean, who stopped short of the counter and leaned back against the wall to wait for John to get the key. He looked down at Sam to answer his question.

"Yeah, he's saying that there are a lot of people here that claim they're possessed by a demon but really aren't. So I guess Dad's here because one of the claims _sounds_ like it might be real, but it could've been just by accident that it sounds like that," Dean whispered.

"Oh okay cool. So it might be nothing?" Sam asked hopefully. Dean shrugged nonchalantly, turning to stare into space.

"Yeah Dad just said it was probably nothing," Dean replied simply and pushed his bag higher up against his shoulder. Sam yawned and leaned against the wall next to his brother, unconsciously mimicking him.

"You tired?" Dean asked lightly, having seen Sam out of his peripheral vision. Sam shrugged.

"No, not really."

"You want to take a walk after this?" Dean offered casually.

"Yeah -where?"

Dean shrugged.

"I don't know. Get a lay of the land, I guess."

Sam nodded lazily.

"Sure."

About an hour later, Sam and Dean were walking down the sidewalk of Main Street. John had settled them in and charged Dean with getting Sam home by dusk (it was about two in the afternoon), bed by nine. He'd taken off to visit the home of the woman that was supposedly possessed, unsure if he was going to spend the night by accepting the family's likely offer of hospitality. He made this clear to both his boys before leaving and gave Dean quite enough cash for several days.

Dean paced himself with Sam, who tended to walk slowly to take in the sights. And while the sights weren't pretty, they were certainly unlike anything the two of them had ever seen. Spanish moss hung everywhere; the destroyed architecture was once obviously quite lavish: it had to have been beautiful in the fifties, but the weathering and erosion had fallen the town over the decades. Quite literally, the only location that looked vaguely new was the Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie location just on the corner of Main and LaCroix.

"Hey Sam-?" Dean ventured, staring at the place. They'd been walking under the blanket of hot humidity for nearly half an hour. Sam looked at Dean, then followed his brother's gaze.

"Dean, no," Sam whined slowly.

"C'mon, please? Air conditioning. I'll get you ice cream," Dean wheedled. Sam huffed and threw a stone he'd been fidgeting with into the street.

"Fine," he gave in, frustrated. Dean grinned as they both angled their way to the Plucky's.

"You know, if it's any consolation, I think the clowns on the walls and stuff _are_ kinda freaky," Dean mentioned as they approached the doors.

"The living ones are so much worse," Sam countered, his voice flat. Dean chuckled as he went first and greeted the clown stationed at the front to welcome them.

"Welcome to Plucky Pennywhistle's _Magical Menagerie!_" The animated actor opened his arms wide and spoke with feigned awe and wonder. Dean was grinning wide, about to thank the clown sarcastically when he realized Sam was no longer next to him. He couldn't help but start laughing when he saw that Sam had positioned himself directly behind him.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean joked, putting his hand behind Sam's back and pushing him over to stand next to him. Sam looked displeased, but he was willing to move to Dean's side as long as he was still pressed up against him. Dean lazily rested his arm around Sam.

"Clown phobia," Dean explained to the clown as he ushered his little brother away, keeping himself as the barrier between Sam and the actor.

"Ah, nothing to be afraid of!" The clown shouted cheerfully after them, making Dean laugh when he felt Sam's shoulders flinch at the sound of it.

Dean moved the two of them to the eating area and eyed the menu on the marquee as he sat down at a table. About six or seven kids were around playing games, but all the tables in the food section were empty. Sam appreciated the lack of kids around; he was used to throngs of screaming children jostling their way around him and he'd come to a vague dislike of crowds as a result.

"Clowns are so scary," Sam said, letting out a breath as he slid into his seat across from Dean.

"Well," Dean started picking his tooth absently as he kept his eyes on the menu, "I'll give you that the guy in the clown suit back there _was_ kinda old." Dean smiled at his observation, then looked back to Sam, who made a visible shiver of dislike. Dean chuckled. In truth, the guy _was_ relatively old – the makeup couldn't hide that he had to be in his late-twenties, early thirties. Dean was a little wary of it, but figured that a lot of adults in this broke-down town must moonlight jobs to stay afloat financially. Either that or it was a John Wayne Gasey situation. At that thought, it was Dean's turn to shiver – only he hid it successfully – as he vowed to himself that he'd never tell Sam about _that_ piece of killer-clown lore.

"All right. Ice cream?" Dean said cheerfully. Sam shrugged and nodded.

"Okay. Be right back," Dean announced, and got up. He moved around the food area's partition, stopped, then walked back to their table, leaning over the bars towards Sam.

"What about cheese fries – you want cheese fries?"

"Ew, no."

"'kay I'm getting cheese fries," Dean replied without missing a beat, and turned back around to wait in line.

Sam sighed and put his elbows on the table, staring into space. He absentmindedly fiddled with his bracelet, now relatively comfortable with it. He often messed with the clasp, making a satisfying sound as he'd click it off and on. It had the dual purpose of driving Dean nuts sometimes, which always made Sam laugh.

After a few minutes, Sam noticed Dean hadn't come back yet and looked over to the food counter. He wasn't surprised, but definitely disappointed, to find Dean talking to the cashier. The very pretty teenaged cashier.

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes, and watched with mounting dismay as he saw his brother give her his, 'just wait two seconds,' gesture as he backed away to bring Sam their food. Grinning, Dean approached with the red plastic tray and leaned over the bars to set it down on the table. He looked up at Sam and noticed his little brother's defeated expression.

"What?"

Sam nodded sadly to the girl.

"What's her name?" He asked heavily. Dean smiled brightly.

"Brianna," he said dazzlingly, and laughed. Sam let out a sigh and gazed down at the tray of food with distaste.

"Hey, Sammy- You don't mind-"

"No, go," Sam waved Dean off with a depressed air, not bothering to look at his brother.

"'Kay thanks. She's just on break for fifteen minutes. I'll be back before ya know it!" Dean assured Sam happily.

"Whatever," Sam mumbled as Dean took off.

Two seconds later, Sam gasped when Dean jumped back into sight.

"Hey!" Dean called out, dropping a coloring book and crayons onto the table. "Oh sorry - Reading material!" He stated, slightly out of breath, then bolted away. Sam, exasperated, watched after his brother as he left the back way (the employees only exit) with Brianna.

Sam huffed and looked down at the coloring book. After a second or two, he opened it with a sigh, trying to find a page that didn't feature a clown. He got to one of a fire truck and tried to get relatively creative. He drew inside the lines, but he'd often add lines of his own; creating patterns within the lined spaces. Dean always liked it when he did that.

For a short while, Sam alternated between colors inside the fire truck. His focus dedicated on the page before him, he suddenly noticed his eyesight flickering in and out at the bottom of his peripheral vision. Sam blinked at the page, annoyed, trying to get the vague flashing to disappear, then looked around and realized that the visual was happening everywhere he looked – consistently at the bottom edge of his sight. A wave of dread fell over Sam and he broke into a sweat. His crayon dropped from his hand as he struggled to stand up. His vision now affected, his vocal chords seemingly tied, all Sam could do was take a few minute steps into a clearer space of floor.

Pale and sweaty, Sam just stood in the center of the food area, experiencing the aura. A dull buzzing started inside Sam's head and he started yawning his mouth to stop it – and then he couldn't stop.

If anything could have been more terrifying, Sam didn't really know what it was until the sight of a clown's face appeared in front of his face. The clown looked serious, was probably asking him questions, but Sam couldn't rightly gauge what they were as he slipped into the seizure.

He felt harsh, constricting hands grab his shoulders and Sam tensed, scared. That was the last moment he could recall as he fell under, his whole body shuddering as he lost control and dropped.

* * *

"Claire! CLAIRE! Get in here!" The actor shouted to the manager of Plucky's. The middle-aged woman heard the dramatic call from the local pastor and rushed out as fast as her legs could carry her. It wasn't fast; she held a considerable amount of weight, compliments of her cost-saving yet nutrient-deficient diet of Plucky's fast food and the local diner.

"What? What is it?" She squealed her accent, then stopped short at the boy on the floor, the pastor in his clown costume kneeling over him. "Oh my lord," she whispered in awe, crossing herself.

"The boy, Claire! Help me!" The pastor called to her as he struggled to hold him down. The boy was writhing, slowly contorting his arms, limbs and torso around, flexing and releasing muscles at random. Eyes glazed and pupils dilated, the boy's mouth gaped open and shut closed like a dying fish.

"Oh dear lord Jesus," Claire whispered vehemently as she rushed over and crouched down next to the pastor. "What do we do, Cal?!" She asked, terrified, holding the boy's arm down by his wrist; Cal had the boy's other wrist in a death grip against the floor. Cal leaned down and pushed his forearm down hard down the center of the boy's chest. The boy continued to writhe underneath him and Cal looked up at Claire.

"_Do you know this boy?"_ Cal demanded, his eyes lit with the fire of zealotry.

"No, pastor, never seen him!" Claire cried, scared at what she was witnessing. Cal looked down, then back up at Claire. "Pastor, what's goin' on here!?" Claire whispered in fear.

"The devil's got in 'im," Cal replied dramatically, looking back down at the child with utter contempt and disgust. The boy's slow flexes started to decrease in lieu of tremors which the pastor rightly anticipated would get worse.

"Back away! _Back away!_" Claire screamed at the rest of the children that had encircled the scene.

"Back room! NOW, Claire!" Cal yelled, picking the trembling boy up in his arms and rushing to the employee only door that Dean had used to exit the premises only five minutes prior.

The shakes got worse in the span of seconds, and Cal struggled with the boy as Claire followed his lead into the back room and set him down in the middle of the floor. Sam's shakes continued as Cal, a man of action, grabbed his belt from his locker and handed it to Claire.

"Put it in his mouth," Cal ordered, knowing demons tried to get their victims to bite off their tongues. Claire collapsed next to the boy and jammed the belt into his mouth.

"Hold him down!" Cal ordered again, and Claire, knowing she held no arm strength, proceeded to set her knee against the boy's solar plexis. It was too heavy, but she couldn't know; the boy wasn't reacting to anything. Cal grabbed his bible from a desk and kneeled before the child.

"Pray with me Claire," he said powerfully, then pushed the book down onto Sam's forehead as the boy's seizure only intensified, slamming between the book and the hard floor; his spine spasming forcefully against the cement.

"Dear lord in heaven – get his hands, Claire! By the wrists! – Dear lord in heaven, we implore you, in the name of Jesus Christ – Do not forsake this child – Do not let him succumb to the forces of evil. Release him! _Release him, Lord-_"

The boy continued to writhe under the pastor's ministrations and Claire started to cry silently with fear as she prayed with her pastor that this boy's life may be saved.

* * *

_Writer's Note: Ah. A cliffhanger. Rest assured, I am planning to post the resolution tomorrow. Please please comment/review – I seriously appreciate each and every one of them! Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_


	6. Plucky's (Part 2)

_Writer's Note 1: So, I'd been planning on writing 4k chapters each weekend for both Clean Slate and Change of Plans, but as this Louisiana story ended up taking roughly 8k this weekend, I'm pretty much all written out. I promise to work on Clean Slate, though, and post soon._

_Writer's Note 2: You guys really wanted Dean to be furious! lol. Needless to say, Dean gets mad, but this chapter is very much more h/c. I'll try to write something with furious!Dean in the next chapters, now, though, as you guys have been so awesome with communicating with me via reviews/PMs and whatnot. Can't thank you enough for that, btw. ~ Alex_

* * *

Story 5 - Plucky's (Part 2)

Words: ~ 5,000

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

"_Demons I get. People are crazy" – Dean Winchester, 'The Benders.'_

* * *

Dean was laughing with Brianna as he entered into the 'employees only,' hallway from the exit.

"So I'll see you on Monday, then, I guess, yeah?" Dean grinned casually, then stopped, listening to voices echoing down the hallway.

"Haha yeah I guess if you don't call me first," Brianna flirted, gently pushing Dean's chest playfully. Dean gave a vague smile, absently reaching to touch her hand. He kept his eyes down the hall, though.

"What the hell-?" He finally asked, pointing down the hall. Brianna rolled her eyes and giggled as if Dean was in on the joke as she explained.

"Yeah our clown's the town pastor – real fire and brimstone guy," she said, waving her hand, "So we get this sometimes – he'll practice sermons and stuff in the back room," she finished as she led Dean to the door to get out into the Plucky's, 'fun,' area. Dean followed in-step, shaking his head.

"Man, he sounds intense," he murmured, put-off. Brianna laughed dully.

"He's an intense guy," she replied over her shoulder as she directed her walk over to the food counter. Dean walked with her, searching for Sam. His clean sweep of the place took two seconds and he stopped dead. Their food was untouched, still on their table. He panned around again, hoping against hope that he'd just missed his kid upon the first inspection.

Dean ran over to the table, looking for any sign of Sam and only spotted the dropped crayon. His eyes widened and breathe caught: false claims of demon possession, and the town pastor _here_. If Sam had had a seizure…

Dean took a vague step back.

"Dean?" Brianna asked, spotting his expression.

Dean bolted, turning back around to the, 'employees only,' door and slammed it open so hard that its top hinge shattered. Dean heard the voices again: a man bellowing out prayers from the end of the corridor. Dean didn't stop; his terror and adrenaline pushing him like lightning down the tunnel.

One beat of his heart, he had reached the door, second beat he'd gripped the doorknob and banged the door wide open with both hands, the third beat all senses stunted as he raced to the scene: a clown hovering over his baby brother's motionless body; a supremely fat woman using her entire weight to keep Sam forced down against the floor, a leather belt lodged in Sam's hanging mouth.

Dean was closest to the man, whose back was facing him. Claire saw him, though: she looked up just as he charged at them in a quiet rage.

"Pastor!" Claire screamed, and the man turned just in time to receive the blow Dean had wound up – perfect timing. The punch was thorough, and before the man could fall, Dean silently grasped him under the arms and ripped him from his position, sending the pastor into near flight away from Sam's limp body.

"Holy mother of God!" The woman squealed as she witnessed the violence.

"_GET AWAY FROM HIM_!" Dean shouted as he turned away from the pastor and started in towards the woman. Claire scrambled up and away in fear and Dean didn't waste time. He saw Claire back away and turned down to reach for Sam, falling to the floor on his brother's side.

Sam was still; too still, and Dean stared at his worst nightmare with blown pupils. First things first, he gently but urgently lifted the belt out and away from Sam's face; he inhaled a cringe of pain, disturbed by the indentations on Sam's face from how tight they must have kept it against his jaw.

Dean leaned down, pressing his ear to Sam's mouth to hear breathing; at the same time, he pushed his index and middle fingers straight into Sam's neck to feel for a pulse.

Pulse was weak but there; breathing raspy and labored.

"Sam! Sammy!?" He gasped as he rose up and turned the boy on his side, holding his head above the floor. "Sam?" Dean's voice cracked as he used his finger to clear saliva out of Sam's mouth. Dean choked sobs when he saw blood pour from Sam's lips. Dean grasped Sam's hands, blinking away tears as he scrutinized the nails.

"Fuck, Sammy," he cried, his voice high-pitched in fear as he spotted a blue tinge in his brother's nail beds. "CALL 9-1-1!" Dean screamed desperately at Claire, who was still stunned, staring dumbly at them. The woman jerked at Dean's voice, stumbled up and ran away from him.

Nearly hyperventilating himself, Dean laid Sam out on his left side; right knee bent; left leg out; head resting on left arm; right arm bent at chest. Dean kept his fingers on Sam's pulse, monitoring its thready rhythm. He moved his knee over Sam's body to the floor on the other side and bent down to hover over the boy, lightly rubbing Sam's back and chest, keeping constant watch over Sam's face.

"C'mon Sammy, breathe, c'mon," Dean coaxed. He tilted Sam's head closer to the floor and tried to help gravity clear the boy's airway again with his finger. "Sammy, you can do it, Sam, just breathe, just keep breathing," he whispered tearfully.

It felt like eternity to Dean as he watched over his brother's body as it struggled to recover. Sam's chest would lift and catch, but he was still relatively warm – and Dean kept rubbing, inwardly hoping it'd help circulation or his heart to beat stronger or _something_.

"Sammy just hold on… Just stay with me," Dean murmured again, his voice pitched again as he sniffed a few times over his brother's body.

Dean noticed the bruising on Sam's wrists; the rising bump on the back of the boy's head. He heard a few quick-paced footsteps around him and a gasp.

"Dean-! Oh my god!" Brianna said, covering her mouth in shock. Dean's silent tears fell over Sam.

"He's got epilepsy," Dean barely managed to say, "– are the paramedics coming?" He asked shakily.

"Y-yeah, Dean, they are, I heard Claire call them," Brianna whispered meaningfully.

Dean sniffed and nodded, unable to take his eyes off his brother.

"He's stabilized," were the best words Dean had ever heard in his entire life. Spoken to him by a paramedic before they rolled into the E.R. bay.

Wrecked, Dean could barely hold it together in the hospital's waiting room, standing in front of the doctor that had just repeated the same statement with final authority.

Dean's eyes watered as he looked down at the ground, his arms clasped tightly around his body, nodding to the sounds of the doctor's continued reassurances. He inhaled.

"Ah..." He started, then stopped. "Ahm," his voice trembled as he tried to make words. He stopped and coughed to get the shakes out of his vocal chords and looked up, blinking his eyes wide. "When's he gonna wake up?" Dean almost shouted, overcompensating.

"His breathing's back to normal, heart rate solid. Any time, now, Dean," the doctor said kindly. Dean nodded, another wave of relief raging over his comedown from adrenaline. He knew he was going to have difficulty with the next question.

"Can I-" Dean got out, but stopped there, his eyes enough to finish the sentence. The doctor nodded sympathetically.

"Follow me, c'mon," she said softly, and turned to lead Dean to the room.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes, reaching consciousness, exactly forty-three minutes from the time he'd clocked out.

Groggy, his irises rolled the first couple of times he tried to focus, but slowly shapes and colors made themselves known. Cracked light blue paint on the walls; beeping monitors, and something covering his mouth and nose: strapped lightly onto his face.

The monitor's beep hit a higher rhythm in tandem to Sam's growing realization that he was in a hospital room. He lifted his hand up, trying for the strength to rip the thing off his face, but as he did so, something soft pressured it down – Dean's hand. Recognizing the feel, Sam searched as best as he could, trying to blink off the blur, when he finally saw Dean. His big brother leaned over Sam, whispering, "Hey Sammy!" with a meak voice.

Sam felt him sit down on the bed right next to him and Dean's face swam into better view as he hovered closer. Sam noticed the pallor of Dean's face; sore eyes. The genuine fear and worry in Dean's expression didn't bode well, either. Sam's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak.

"SH!" Dean shushed vehemently, seriously, then lightened up when Sam stopped, his eyes communicating perfectly to Dean the alarm and confusion he was feeling as a result of Dean's behavior. "Just- Don't try to talk just yet, Sammy," Dean whispered as he stroked Sam's hair. "Just… Do the blinking thing, okay?" Dean offered, trying to sound airy but failing. Sam, unnerved, shook his head no, wanting to talk. Unsteady and disoriented, Dean's exaggerated comfort was fraying him.

"Hey, no, c'mon, Sammy, it's okay, it's fine," Dean tried to reassure, but his voice wavered and Sam shook his head again in desperation, really scared. Sam felt tears welling up and he didn't even know why. Dean was a mess and Sam was only taking cues from him.

Dean gently framed the side of Sam's face with his hand.

"Hey hey hey Sammy shh… It's okay now, you're okay," Dean said softly, nodding his head and widening his eyes with expectation. Sam swallowed under the oxygen mask, staring trustfully up at his brother.

"That's it, good, relax," Dean whispered, going back to brushing Sam's hair. Sam blinked slowly, keeping his gaze locked on Dean. "Good job, just breathe. You've done so good, Sammy," Dean praised, looking into Sam's eyes with pure affection. Sam nodded slowly and Dean gave a grimace of a smile as a tear broke forth from an eye. Dean sniffed and gave a small laugh at it, turning his head down for a second. Sam immediately reached out to his brother; needing Dean to be okay. Dean found and held Sam's hand, resting it against his chest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry kiddo, you just… Gave me a scare," Dean barely contained the cry in his laugh as he blinked. Sam tensed with guilt. He made a fist with his free hand and moved it over his chest in a circle. It was the sign for, 'I'm sorry.'

Dean noticed the movement and glanced over to see the sign. He gave a wet laugh.

"No, it's not your fault," Dean said thickly, but firmly. He grasped Sam's hand a little tighter as he leaned back over Sam. Sam's eyes were glued to Dean, so ashamed but still dependent on Dean's words. "You hear me? This wasn't your fault. It's never your fault, okay?"

Sam nodded sadly. Dean sniffed, nodding back.

"Ah, okay, good," he whispered, wiping his eye tiredly. "You gotta sleep," he said wearily. Sam's forehead knitted, and he shook his head.

"What?"

Sam tried to squeeze Dean's hand as he widened his eyes at his brother; it wasn't much, but Dean understood. He winced and tilted his head.

"You think you're up for it?"

Sam nodded.

"'Kay. Dad'll be by with the Impala in about ten minutes. We'll have him talk to the doctor; see if we can't take you home."

Sam nodded, accidentally dislodging a tear that rolled down the side of his face.

"Hey," Dean whispered, "You're okay and this is not your fault, okay?"

Sam nodded, his breath shaky, as Dean resumed lightly carding his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam blinked once, then twice; the second time slower than the last. Dean could always put him to sleep, but Sam was scared; he wanted Dean to be okay, so he fought to keep his eyes open. Dean noticed and leaned down to kiss Sam on his temple, then whispered into his ear.

"Sammy go to sleep," he leaned back to see Sam's eyes still barely open, "Close your eyes," Dean ordered softly, "I'll be right here when you wake up. Right next to you," he promised. Sam finally gave a slight nod and closed his eyes.

* * *

Dean walked out of Sam's room to grab some water when he saw his father speaking with the nurses at the desk down the hall. He stopped for a moment, a lump in his throat forming when his Dad turned and spotted him. Dean resumed his walk, and at each step it felt like the weight of what he had happened and whose fault it was bore down on him harder and harder until he was a few feet away and managed to say, "I'm so sorry, Dad." He broke into tears as he kept walking, reaching his father's open arms.

John was silent and just held his eldest tightly, rubbing his back every once in awhile as Dean tried to calm down in his father's arms.

"It's not your fault, Dean," John whispered, and Dean couldn't help but notice the line he'd just given his brother. He fell for it just as Sam had, though. "I don't blame you, Dean. It's not your fault," John repeated. Soon, Dean released his hold from John, and John appraised his eldest's appearance: exhausted, pale, and pulled in on himself, John hadn't seen Dean look so vulnerable in years.

Dean was shaking his head and little.

"They were just people," he whispered, then looked up at John. John nodded and tilted his head in sympathy.

"Yeah, Dean, they were just people."

"They almost killed Sam," Dean gulped, on the brink of tears again. John sighed and pulled Dean in for another hug, which Dean embraced, grasping his father's back with open hands.

John put his hand on the back of Dean's head and tilted to whisper into his ear.

"Dean, you saved Sam's life, okay? You did good," John assured his unraveled son. Dean nodded in the crook of John's neck, sighed slowly as he repeated John's words in his head. He tightened his grip one last time before letting go, blinking tears away as he tried to rebuild his strength, attempting a small smile for his father.

He'd been on time; he'd saved Sam. He hadn't failed, and he'd never fail.

* * *

About two hours later, Sam woke up again to the sight of his brother and father's smiles. John looked worried, but generally not nearly as unhinged as Dean had been. Dean seemed better, too. He stood by the window; John was by the door of the room.

"Hey," Sam rasped. The oxygen mask was off. John approached and hovered over Sam.

"Hey bud, how you feeling?" He murmured. Sam shrugged, then glanced at Dean, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"I'm good," Sam replied, realizing that he did feel better than he had when he'd woken up with Dean.

"You still want to go home? Or is it okay if they keep you overnight?" John tilted his head in sympathy as he spoke.

"No I wanna come home," Sam whispered, his voice raw from sleep. For some reason, his tongue and jaw hurt. Sam felt around in his mouth and realized that he must've bitten the back right quadrant of his tongue during the seizure. He couldn't figure why his jaw hurt, though. He squinted in confusion, moving his jaw around to test his boundaries. He could only open his mouth so far before it started to hurt.

"All right kiddo, so, I talked to the doctors. They said you're fine to be released. We just gotta take care of you, okay?" John explained gently. Sam nodded, a spark of excitement flaring that he wouldn't have to stay in the hospital any longer.

"Okay-" John said as he turned and gestured to someone outside. An attendant walked in with a wheelchair, just like last time, when Sam had been diagnosed. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I can walk," he murmured, moving to get up.

Dean was there in a flash.

"Stop stop stop, hold on, Sam," Dean pressed him down for a second.

"_Dean_…" Sam whined a little, looking up and noticing the renewed concern and anxiety in his brother's eyes. "What?"

"You're gonna be really sore for this, okay? I just… Let us help you, okay?" Dean replied sincerely. Sam squinted and gulped, then nodded.

"'Kay, Dean," he whispered in a small voice.

"Kay, c'mon," Dean moved his hands from Sam's chest to under his shoulders and waited for Sam to push up.

Sam was ready to show Dean that he wasn't as sore or hurt as Dean said he was. It had been a seizure: seizures don't normally injure you if you're in a safe place – and Sam had fallen down in the middle of the food area at Plucky's, not a floor of glass. Resolved, Sam pushed himself up in bed.

Pain burst through Sam's spine.

"Holy… shit…" Sam gasped. He almost slumped back down in bed if it hadn't been for Dean still holding him up.

"Dean-" John came around to Sam's other side, spotting them.

"I got 'im – I gotchya, Sam…," Dean tightened his grip and pulled Sam forward. Sam's eyes screwed shut, battling the pain of a severely bruised spine and chest.

"-The hell," Sam breathed hoarsely, his head resting on Dean's shoulder, "Happened – to me?" He asked.

"I _told_ you," Dean insisted, referring to his warning that Sam was going to be sore. Dean glanced at John. "Dad, you want to bring the Impala around? I got Sam," Dean suggested, giving Sam time to breathe through the shock of the pain.

"You sure?" John checked.

"Yeah," Dean gave John a small smile and rubbed Sam's back. "I got this." John nodded slowly.

"Okay I'll see you two at the front in two minutes, yeah?"

Sam couldn't see John, as he was still faced over Dean's shoulder, but both of them replied in the affirmative. John couldn't help but give a small smile at that.

"Okay sounds good," John said as his goodbye, and stepped away to leave to leave.

"Okay, c'mon, Sammy," Dean murmured as he heard their father step into the hall and disappear. He angled Sam so he could move his legs over the hospital bed. "Can you stand?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeah," he mumbled, then pushed off the bed. Again, Dean had him under the arms to make sure he'd land lightly on the floor. He twisted Sam around and set him down in the wheelchair. Looking up, he gave a smile to the attendant, who smiled back, and, understanding, stepped back to let Dean take the handles.

Dean navigated them through the halls of the hospital easily and arrived outside the lobby quickly. The Impala wasn't there, so Dean clicked the brakes on the wheelchair, and crouched next to Sam as they waited for John to pull up. Sam turned his head in Dean's direction, but didn't look him in the eye.

"Dean," Sam murmured. Dean turned to look at his brother.

"Yeah?" Dean mimicked Sam's low volume.

Sam moved around in his seat on the wheelchair.

"It hurts to sit," Sam whispered sheepishly. Dean tilted his head to try to get Sam to look at him.

"I know, I'm sorry. We'll get you lying down in the car. The doctors said you bruised your tailbone – so that's what's happening."

"Oh," Sam looked up, uncertain, at Dean. Dean gave him a small, but reassuring smile. Sam smiled back. "Okay."

A few moments passed and Dean took Sam's hand in his.

"Hey, Sam, if anything else hurts, you tell me, okay? Me or Dad. But tell us, okay? No matter how embarrassing it might be. _Always_," Dean added. Sam quirked a smile and looked at Dean, nodding.

"Okay."

"Okay." Dean smiled and ruffled Sam's hair gently.

The Impala pulled up in front of them and Dean stood up. The car idled as John got out and walked around the car.

"Okay ready?"

"Yup," Dean replied. John looked Sam over.

"Yeah," Sam nodded to his father as Dean walked over and opened the back door to the Impala. John wheeled the wheelchair closely and before Dean or John could help, Sam had already gotten himself up and into the back seat without their help. He settled himself behind the driver's seat, sitting up and hunched over a little bit, but overall looking fine.

"Wow, good job, Sam," John chuckled, loving the strikingly independent streak in his youngest. He pulled the now-empty wheelchair back from the car and turned around, pushing it towards the attendant who stood by waiting to retrieve it.

John turned around and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Not sitting up front?" John asked casually as he saw Dean bending into the backseat, talking to Sam, then kneeling in to sit next to him. Dean looked out from the backseat, sitting behind the passenger seat he normally took, to respond to his father.

"Not this time, s'it okay?" Dean replied back easily as John approached the open backseat door and leaned in.

"'Course," John said, genuinely smiling as he shut the door for them. It was the first time in years that he had seen Dean in the backseat.

The car door shut next to Dean and he got settled in the passenger seat. He'd been telling Sam to lie down in the back, but Sam kept insisting that he was fine, so Dean had decided to stay in the back with Sam. Yes, Dean understood Sam had an independent streak, and yes, he was more privy to the downsides of this particular trait than their father.

John got in the driver's seat and turned around.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," both boys chimed. John started the ignition and drove out of the driveway. He took a turn into the parking lot, then hit the speed hump on the way out of the lot and into the street.

The Impala was their home, but the suspension left much to be desired. At the speed hump, Sam leaned forward slowly, trying to hide it from Dean, and angled himself off his tailbone by leaning against the window. He sensed Dean come closer next to him and then an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Sammy, c'mon, lie down," Dean whispered, gently pulling Sam over to him.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said lightly, but Dean's consistent pulling eventually won him over. He leaned against Dean's chest.

"'Kay," Dean murmured, "Hold on two secs," he said, suddenly gripping Sam again under the shoulders.

"Ah, Dean-" Sam started to complain tiredly as he anticipated Dean was going to move him; he really wasn't interested in getting jostled.

In two seconds flat, though, Sam found himself laid out on the back seat against Dean's chest. Dean had used his feet to brace him and pulled Sam back along the seat bench. His big brother was now leaning against the door on his side, Sam lying securely against him.

"Oh-" Sam murmured in surprise. "That was fast," he said flatly, but still impressed.

"I know; I'm awesome," Dean replied self-assuredly as he got situated, resting one arm across Sam's chest, the other one grabbing a blanket and stuffing it behind his head so it wouldn't hit the window. Sam put his arm over Dean's and settled in, comfortable.

"Hey Dad?" Dean piped up. Sam could feel the reverberation of Dean's voice against his head and back.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"How long is it to the motel?"

As John drove, Sam watched the yellow lights of the highway shaft in and out, lighting up the interior of the car, then going away just as fast. It was a familiar sight - one that, in later years, would serve as nostalgic. With Dean holding him, he felt peaceful and safe. His eyelids started to droop as he gazed, his focus idly landing on the little army man he'd stuck in the ashtray. At every streetlight, its features would light up as yellow, then fade back to dark green until the next one.

"Um, it'll take 'bout half an hour, I think," John shook his open hand back and forth for Dean to see, gesturing it was an approximation. Sam felt Dean nod and resettled himself a little bit underneath him.

"Sam you gonna fall asleep? We got awhile," Dean suggested more than asked. Sam vaguely shook his head against Dean's chest.

"Nuh," Sam sighed, and pushed himself up higher against Dean. Dean made room for him, letting Sam come up closer to his shoulder. Dean sighed, too.

"Okay," he replied lightly, and simply wrapped his other arm around Sam. Sam moved in kind, putting both of his arms over Dean's. Completely at rest, the two of them started to doze in silence.

* * *

After thirty-five minutes, John rolled into the rundown motel they were calling their home at the time. He'd come to the conclusion that, demon possession or no, this location was no place for Sam. They'd leave as soon as possible and either John would find a new hunt or, if he thought they could handle it, he'd come back himself and see the case through.

These were his thoughts as he'd driven home, not minding the silence. He recalled the days when his boys were both consistently relegated to the backseat; John had thought of the two of them back there as his priceless cargo.

But when Dean had started sitting up front, he'd had more opportunity to ask him questions that John wouldn't have answered had Sam been listening. Dean was so enthusiastic, though: absorbing John's advice and explanations like a sponge, and surprisingly fearless in the face of everything John told him.

It had made John so proud, and still did. But sometimes, times like these, he felt that Dean could maybe have done without so much information; that he maybe should've made Dean stay in the proverbial backseat a little longer.

John parked in front of their motel room and killed the engine. He turned around to look at his boys in the back. He couldn't help but snicker at the sight.

One leg bent against the seatback, the other falling into the seat wells, Dean had Sam up against him, both arms loosely but securely wrapped around his little brother. Sam had turned himself around in his sleep to face the seatback on Dean's left shoulder, so John could only see his youngest's mop of messy, tangled hair resting just below Dean's neck.

Dean's head, on the other hand, had fallen back against the window. His eyes were shut closed and his mouth wide open in a deep sleep.

A thought occurred to John and immediately he turned to search the glove compartment. Finding the disposable camera they'd had for ages, John wound the reel up, hoping it wouldn't disturb them, readied the flash, held still to frame Dean's expression straight and center (making sure to keep Sam in frame, as well), and snapped the shot.

The flash lit up the entire car and Dean snorted awake, jostling Sam, which, in an automatic chain reaction, got them both awake and moving around.

"Ah, wha was 'at?" Dean asked, annoyed, moving his arm up to rub his eyes. John laughed, surreptitiously putting the camera back into the glove compartment.

"We're here, guys," he informed, and when he looked into the backseat again, Sam had already lifted up and disentangled himself from Dean's hold. He blinked at his father dully, then tilted his head to the side.

"Did you take a picture of us?" Sam asked suspiciously. John laughed again and got out of the car, hearing Dean's shout behind him.

"Not funny, Dad! That's _not_ getting developed!"

* * *

_Writer's End Note: Thank you so much for reading! Did you like the resolution? Any suggestions for another tale now that we're done with Louisiana? Please please review or comment, as it's always amazing to hear from you all. Cheers! ~ Alex Kerr_


	7. The Nurse's Office

Writer's Start Note: Hello! Back to updating! Hopefully I'll knock out a chapter of Clean Slate some time in the next week/weekend. This chapter is lengthy - outsider POV. Thought I'd try something new (ish). ;)

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Story 6 - The Nurse's Office

Words: ~ 7,400

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**A Change of Plans**

* * *

It was February and not exactly the normal time any kid enters into a new school. It was weird, but hey. His parents must've just gotten a weirdly awesome job and just shot on down here from Illinois (so I heard). I teach eighth grade English here in Marietta, Georgia. It's the largest suburb-city of Atlanta and I work at Arden Junior High. I honestly don't have a lot of complaints. Helicopter parents are terrible and of course eighth graders are little devils.

Eighth grade is the last year before kids become freshmen in high school. They usually rule the lower grades as if they're the masters-and-commanders of the entire school. They're not, really. And I often love to tongue-tie the little monsters when they mouth off to me but it's usually all in good fun. I have a thing about building rapports with my students - especially the more rambunctious ones. If I can get them to reel it in when I really need them to, the rest of the class will follow. Something I learned after a few years doing this job.

Sam, though, entered my classroom with the most unassuming attitude I'd ever seen. It was striking. Obviously, he was the new kid - and normally I would've just written off his bearing as a result of that. But he wasn't _shy_. He was just quiet. He stood to his full height and locked in eye contact with me. He was respectful, but not blindly. He didn't smile, but that seemed acceptable to me. He was just calm and collected. I told the class to say hi to him and indicated an empty seat for him to go to.

When I was a kid, I used to get moved around a lot. I knew what it was like being, 'new.' One of the worst things teachers could do was ask you to share something about yourself and choose your own seat when you were done.

Honestly, when you're in a new environment and you're not sure how to manage yourself within it, you rarely want to publically speak or assess people so awkwardly when it comes time to determine where to sit in a classroom. I never made new kids do that.

Anyway, so he sat down. He was honestly the most attentive kid in my entire class that day. It was great. He still hadn't smiled at me though, so at the end of the period, I called him over.

"What's up?" He asked openly, restrapping his backpack along his shoulder as he approached. I smiled and leaned back in my chair.

"Not much. Did you like your first class?"

"Um," Sam looked confused for a second, then gave me what I realized was a pitying smile. "Yeah it was... Great," he said encouragingly.

I started laughing. The kid just gave me a compliment out of _pity_. I leaned forward and began trying to explain myself.

"No, I meant.. I mean like how do you like it so far here?"

Again, Sam gave me a slightly confused grin and nodded.

"It's... Pretty good, Ms. Gold," he drawled comically. I rolled my eyes and smiled. This kid really wasn't that talkative, but he was doing a damn good job communicating anyway.

"All right," I waved him off, "I was just asking. Didn't know it was gonna get awkward," I quipped. Finally, he smiled. His eyes lit up and he had some aggressive dimples. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Sam backed away, smiling.

"Yeah, Ms. Gold."

"All right ciao," I waved again. He waved back and left the classroom. Cute kid. Definitely on the mature end of the scale.

...

A few days later I was reviewing students' records. Sam's had just come in and I was a little irritated to see that he had Epilepsy. I - and all the other teachers - should've gotten that heads-up on his first day. Luckily nothing had happened so far. I figured Sam probably had some low-grade version of the syndrome.

...

A few weeks later, I was in the teacher's lounge when I heard Greg complaining about a kid as he refilled his mug with coffee (even though it was lunch time - Greg was a hopeless caffeine addict). Greg Fiano was one of the science teachers for the eighth graders. He tended to rule with an iron fist and a bitter attitude. I _joked_ with my students but Greg would just straight-up ridicule them. It always warmed my heart when kids would come into my class after Greg's and claim that I was the best teacher in the world. Sure, it came at Greg's expense, but I wasn't too fond of Greg either. Plus it was nice to hear I was the best teacher in the world.

Anyway, sorry. So I'm in the teacher's lounge, reading Jurassic Park. It was around noon - the kids all had their lunch periods. I hear his annoying voice pierce into Crichton's manuscript. I sighed and closed my book, turning in my chair and taking my feet off the coffee table.

"Greg, what're you talking about?"

Greg spun around to me.

"Have _you_ noticed this, Cathy?" I noticed Jane, the Latin teacher Greg had been talking to, give me a look as she subtly backed away so she didn't have to listen to him anymore. I hid my smile.

Damn tenure. No one liked him and he was a pretty shitty teacher.

"Noticed _what?_" I asked, irritated.

"Sam Winchester?"

"Okay, yeah. He's a cute kid. What?" I challenged.

"You kidding me? He can't focus worth a damn."

I lifted an eyebrow, skeptical.

"I've even caught him babbling to _no one_ and like spastically moving his arm around, which freaks his poor lab partner out. I can't say I'd blame her. Today was the worst - he's like the _weirdest_-"

As Greg went on, my skepticism turned into pure concern.

"Greg, shit. What did you do?" I asked accusingly, throwing my book down on the chair as I got up to face him. Greg looked at me like I was crazy.

"I didn't do anything. It's just today I asked him a question and he _refused_ to answer me."

"Did he raise his hand?"

"No," he replied with an air of self-righteousness.

No. Of course not. Greg loved to pick on his most unaware students and show them up to the entire class.

"_Damn _it, Greg, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"What are you talking about, Cathy? He-"

"He has Epilepsy, you idiot," I said as I quickly started gathering my things together.

"So?"

I turned around to him, eyes glaring.

"So, you're describing _seizures_."

Greg snorted.

"That's _not_ what a seizure looks like."

"Yeah it is, Greg," I insisted, distressed. "Jesus Christ, if a kid has to wear a bracelet for a medical condition, fucking _read_ up on it," I yelled, stuffing the book into my bag. I turned around, looking to see if I'd missed anything. "He must get them more around the time of day he has your class or something. When did this happen?" I murmured seriously.

"Just last period," Greg offered, looking like he was being yelled at for having done nothing wrong.

"How'd it end?"

I saw the wheels turning in Greg's head. I almost heard the click when his thick skull had registered what I'd been saying.

"I... I bypassed him after the class waited for awhile. The bell rang a few minutes later and..."

"_And_?" I prompted, furious. Greg wiped his face with his hand and sighed.

"I... I saw that he'd fallen asleep on the lab table. I let the other kids filter out and woke him up."

"What'd you say to him?" I asked, already disgusted by Greg's description of what happened. No doubt he was downplaying whatever public humiliation he might've subjected the kid to.

"I gave him a detention. I told him that he needed to focus in my class. I told him that if I caught him falling asleep again, he'd have to go to McCallister."

McCallister is the principle. Nice guy - kind of flaky.

"Uh huh," I replied skeptically. I grabbed my bag and left the lounge in search of the kid. Unbelievable. Un-friggin-believable that our _science_ teacher doesn't know the various symptoms or signals of a seizure. Not to mention, I had this heavy feeling in my heart that Greg had just lied to me about letting the kids leave before he'd disciplined Sam.

This was a royal fuck up. I sincerely hoped that maybe whoever Sam's parents were would get Greg fired for this.

I weaved through the halls to get to the lunchroom. Looking around, I couldn't spot Sam in the cafeteria, so I threw on my windbreaker and opened the double doors to get out onto the black top. Marie, one of the lunch time attendants, was nearby watching some of the kids play basketball. I strode up to her fast and she gave me a wide smile.

"Hey nice day out, right?!" She called out.

"Fantastic," I said dully, "Hey listen have you seen Sam Winchester?"

Marie's smile faded immediately.

"Shit, yeah," she whispered.

"What?" I asked as she moved closer to me so we wouldn't be overheard.

"Just took two kids off him."

"_What_?" I asked harshly. Marie, her brows furrowed in sympathy, nodded.

"Yeah, I know, right?"

"Where is he now?"

"I think over there somewhere," Marie pointed far off in the distance near the edge of the soccer field.

"Why isn't he at the nurse?"

"I told him to go but he insisted that he didn't have to," Marie said, lifting her hands up and shrugging helplessly.

"Where're the other two kids?"

"McCallister."

"Good." Marie and I exchanged knowing looks that at least _that _detail had been taken care of. Now to just make sure Sam was okay.

"All right," I sniffed. The weather had a bitingly cold wind whistling through. "Over there?" I asked, pointing in the same direction that Marie had just a moment before. Marie nodded and squinted her eyes, trying to spot him.

"Yeah I can't see him but I think that's where he took off to."

"He got friends?" I asked as I backed away, wondering if maybe my presence wasn't needed. Perhaps he had buddies already that were helping him out.

Marie's face fell and she shook her head.

"Don't think so, Cath," she called back. I nodded, feeling similarly disheartened, and turned around to continue past the black top. In the back of my mind I was thinking about how much I hated it when people called me, 'Cath.'

"Cathy! Hey Cathy!" I stopped short and turned around again, surprised to see Marie hurrying up to me.

"Hey I gotta stay over by the doors but you were asking about friends. You know a, 'Dean,' in the class?"

It took me a blink to respond.

"No. Why? Who's Dean?"

Marie shrugged.

"I don't know."

Marie stopped talking and I gave her an expectant look. Marie shrugged.

"The kid asked for Dean. I don't know. He seemed out of it."

I rolled my eyes. What else could possibly go wro- no. Wait. I stopped myself there because I really didn't want to jinx this kid.

"Thanks," _for nothing_, I thought, and headed back in the right direction as I saw Marie retreat back to her station by the back doors. I sighed and kept my eyes peeled. I was halfway past the sidelines of the field when I came across a clique of my students hanging out together on the bleachers. I came up to them.

"Hey guys have you seen Sam Winchester?" I asked casually, my voice cutting through the wind.

"Oh hey Ms. Gold!" Tom blurted, his peppy personality always a nice sight to see. Ironically, he always wore black and his poetry was dark as hell.

"Hey Tom. So have you guys seen him?"

"Who?" Cassie, a friend of Tom's, asked as she turned around to look at me.

"Sam Winchester."

"Oh... Um. Yeah," Tom said vaguely, squinting his eyes ponderingly.

"I think I saw him walk by us like fifteen minutes ago."

"On this path?" I asked, indicating the path I was on. Tom nodded.

"Okay, thanks," I said as I moved along. I stopped and turned back.

"Hey, Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Did he look okay?"

Tom gave it some thought and I swear to god, my heart was turning into an anvil.

"I don't know. He didn't look _happy_ if that's what you mean."

I sighed again. Eighth graders.

"'Kay, thanks, Tom."

Fifteen minutes ago, if Sam had continued down this path, would've led him out of the school grounds. I bit my lip and looked at my watch. Ten minutes left of the period. Shit, I had to find him soon.

I picked up my pace and nearly walked right past him. There was a huge tree along the side of the path and Sam was curled up against the root system that almost hid him entirely from view. I stopped dead, almost stumbling over my one-inch heels (my job is glamorous), and turned back around to step off the path and over to the tree.

"Sam?" I asked hesitantly, even though I knew it was him. He had a light windbreaker on, similar to mine, only his seemed a bit worse for wear. His head was turned down against his chest and his arms were tucked against his body. His knees were pulled up high, concealing my view of his body. He looked _young_. Like, really young and little. Especially for a thirteen year old.

"Sam?" I asked again, my heart breaking a little as I came closer and saw he was shivering. This was a little bit worse than I had imagined. Most of the time whenever I worry about my eighth graders' feelings, they rebuff me like _I'm_ the weirdo for caring. Sam here didn't look like he could spare an ounce of defensive posturing. Curled up, unresponsive, and shivering, the kid was scaring me.

It was worse, too, because this kid, in the past few weeks of dealing with him, had always been entirely genuine. His humor was dry - always a bit on the sarcastic side - but he always had a glint in his eye when he delivered. As if you were in on the joke with him even if it _was_ at your expense. No other kid I knew had ever had that kind of savvy. No idea where he could've gotten it from.

He was smart as a whip. Quiet but not downtrodden. Confident even, I'd say, but never gloating. So obviously self-sustaining and mature at the age of _thirteen_ that I never imagined I'd find him in such a vulnerable position like this. I crouched down and moved forward, eventually squatting in front of him.

"Sam, honey, you awake?" I prompted with that concerned and caring tone every teacher learns to switch gears into when they're worried. I reached my hand out to touch his knee.

"Sam?" I touched his knee and Sam _jumped_. Even _I_ jumped in alarm at his reaction, then winced when I saw his head nail the tree behind him.

"Sam, Sam it's Ms. Gold, Sam," I tried to assure him, but he just looked groggy. "Sam are you okay?" I asked, referring to the head-bang against the tree. Sam sighed as he blinked, eyes trying to focus on me.

"Ms. Gold?" He asked, his voice small and scratchy. I got a good look at his face just then and cringed in sympathy. Sam's eyes were red; I could tell he'd been crying. He had dirt on his face and along his hairline - likely a result of the two kids that had bullied him.

"Are you hurt, Sam?" I asked gently, reaching out to him.

"S'Dean coming?" He asked, pulling back from me.

"Hon, I don't know who Dean is," I shook my head helplessly.

"I... I..." Sam looked around and his eyes widened. Okay yeah, _something_ was wrong with this kid. He was obviously disoriented. "I'm... tired," Sam finished.

Not knowing exactly what to do, I watched as his eyes started to close again.

"Okay, Sam. Hey- No!" I called, seeing his eyes close. At my call, he jerked them open again and blinked at me. "Sam, c'mon, it's time to go inside," I said, having had enough. It's a problem that sometimes I get a little angry when I get genuinely worried. I'm not an expert on Epilepsy, but the condition Sam was in did not indicate that he was doing all right. I stood up quickly and offered my hands. Sam looked up at me dazedly.

"Where's Dean?"

"Who's Dean?" I asked quickly, almost like a demand. Sam obviously wasn't responding to my cajoling-caring tone of voice, so I was trying a different tack. Without missing a beat, Sam replied.

"My brother."

"Where's your brother?"

"High school."

I sighed and looked up in the direction of the high school. I looked back down to Sam.

"Can't call Dean, Sam. Where's your mom?"

"Dead," Sam replied instantly again. Kind of emotionless tone too, even though it took me a second for it to sink in. I gulped and gave a weak cough, mentally glossing over that piece of information and saving it for later.

"'Kay what about your Dad?"

"Not here."

"Where's your Dad?" I asked, curious now that I had Sam on the line for this kind of back-and-forth dialogue. Apparently, though, I'd kind of exhausted the kid of his remaining composure. I looked down and realized that his breath was catching. I bent down again.

"Sam, hey Sam. Sorry. Sorry..."

"He's... He's out of town... Business," Sam cried softly. I bit my lip with remorse. Probably shouldn't have pushed him that hard. "Where's Dean?!" Sam half-cried, half-yelled at me. I put my hand on Sam's head gently and pulled out my cell phone, knowing I was going to regret this.

"Here, Sam. Here I'm gonna call him, okay?" I said, hoping Sam would calm down because his cries were making _me_ want to cry. Thirteen year olds rarely cry except in injury. Even then, it's unnerving. "Okay what's his number?"

Sam sniffed and finally untangled himself to reach for my phone. I handed it to him and let him punch in the number.

"Let me talk to him, okay?" I whispered as I reached back for my phone. Sam hiccupped and nodded as I pried the phone from his hand. I brought it up to my ear and heard the ring click into air.

"Hello?"

I heard the period bell go off in the distance and squeezed Sam's shoulder reassuringly.

"Hi is this Dean Winchester?" I asked lightly.

"Yeah, is something wrong?" Dean's voice seemed to boom through my phone. He sounded threatening even though I knew he was only in high school.

"Um, well my name is Cathy Gold-"

"Sam's teacher," Dean stated, and suddenly I heard something in the background of his phone like a chair screeching off the floor and an annoyed voice with a thick southern accent call, "Dean!" in the background. A door slammed and then silence until Dean's voice boomed through again. "Is everything all right? What's going on?"

"I... I think Sam's had a rough day. He's asking for you."

"You guys at the nurse's office?"

"Ah," I looked at Sam, then out at the now empty field and black top, "No. Sam doesn't want to head over there just yet."

"Let me speak to him."

It felt weird letting a teenager order me around like this, but I don't know. I moved the phone from my ear and held it out for Sam.

"Sam, it's Dean," I told Sam, trying to get the kid to snap out of it. Snap out of it he did, _kind of_, and took the phone.

"Dean?" Sam said into the receiver softly. I watched as Sam's eyes started tearing up again as he nodded along to whatever Dean was saying.

"Yeah... yeah..." Sam whispered into the phone. He turned his head down and gave a small sob. "Yeah. Okay," he finished, sniffing, then hung up the phone.

"Okay? Are we good? We going to the nurse, now?" I asked, hopeful. Sam nodded jerkily, trying to regain some composure.

"I... I need your help," Sam breathed. "I'm really tired."

I nodded.

"Yeah of course, Sam," I said as I stood up again and reached down for him. Sam finally registered my gestures and reached out. We locked hands and I pulled him up.

"I get... Disornted..." Sam slurred a little bit, but I knew what he meant.

"That's okay, I got it," I replied, holding on to Sam under his arms as he stumbled a bit down the path.

"So is Dean coming?" I asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah," Sam breathed, as though it was a struggle to speak. I decided to stop asking him questions.

It was a godsend that also made a lot of practical sense that the nurse's office was so close to the back doors of the lunch and school grounds. Once getting inside, I only had to carry the stumbling boy down one hallway. I angled Sam into the nurse's station. There were two other kids in area, one sporting a bloody nose and the other an ice pack to the shin. I noticed them and they noticed Sam and I, watching with keen eyes.

Jim, the school nurse, took one look at us and jumped up from his chair. Normally a pretty jovial guy in his early thirties, Jim simply swept over to us quietly, gave me a split-second smile, then crouched down to look at Sam.

"Hey buddy," Jim said searchingly, looking up at me again for a microsecond, then back at Sam.

"Hey Jim," Sam whispered.

"Back so soon, huh?" Jim said gently, giving him a kind smile and reaching out to take him from my hands.

"Hah. Yeah," Sam replied wearily as he allowed the transition of support from me to Jim. Jim looked at me expectantly.

"I found him outside in the field..." I trailed off as I watched Jim expertly, carefully lifted Sam's feet onto his booted shoes. It looked old hat even though Sam had only been here a month. I couldn't help but be distracted. Sam seemed so healthy, so confident and strong in my class. It just never occurred to me that so much care was taken for him by medical professionals. Jim's treatment of Sam was so personal and gentle. It struck me that Sam must normally have to trust people like Jim on a regular basis like this. _God_, I thought. _Not that Jim's not awesome. But Epilepsy sucks._

I knew Jim well and I knew he was a great guy but my estimations of him skyrocketed as I saw how delicate he was with Sam.

Jim kept his eyes on me and I got the distinct impression I needed to walk with him as he 'walked' Sam over to one of the couch-bed type things the school had for kids that needed to lie down. A fierce protective streak shot through me as I followed, careful to make sure the two kids in the nurse's office watching us couldn't see Sam as Jim handled him onto the bed... bed-couch thing.

"Cathy?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," I shook my head free of thoughts, "I think he had a seizure at some point before the lunch period. He went down to lunch and apparently two kids were bullying him on the grounds. They're in the principal's office right now-"

Jim was still listening but I watched as he put his hands up in front of Sam, one with a small flashlight in it. A slight nod from Sam and Jim leaned over Sam. He lifted one of Sam's eyes open with his hand and shone the flashlight, then moved it side to side.

"So then I found him way out beyond the field against a tree."

Jim moved to Sam's other eye, nodding along with my words. When he was done, he sighed and smiled at Sam. "You're lookin' okay. Pupils are workin'," he spoke softly to Sam with an upbeat tone. Sam's hand moved into a vague thumbs up. Jim gave his hand a pat and stood up to lean back and grab a blanket from the foot of the couch. As he did so, he gave me an encouraging nod that he was still listening to me if I had anything else to say. I searched my mind for more to report.

"Um. When I woke him up he jumped and hit his head against the tree trunk. I don't know if that...That matters but..."

Now I was rambling, I realized, and trailed off as I watched Sam groggily blink whilst staring up at the ceiling.

Jim turned to me and smiled kindly.

"He seems fine right now," Jim assured me and I nodded at him, obviously still worried. Jim shut the curtain around Sam's bed area and moved past me over to the desk. He picked up the phone and cradled it against his neck as he dialed. It struck a memory.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Jim finished dialing and looked up.

"What's up?" He whispered casually.

"I called Sam's brother? Dean?"

Jim looked taken back, blinked a couple times, then covered it with a cheerful smile.

"Oh Great. Okay," he said uncertainly. Suddenly Jim turned to look at the desk as whoever was on the other line picked up.

"Ah-" Jim started, then stopped, listening, "Yeah. You-" Jim was interrupted again, "Okay," Jim stopped again. "Yeah no, no, Dean. He's just resting. He's cool. Okay. See you soon."

Jim hung up and turned to me, giving me a, 'shit, we're-in-trouble,' look. I gave him a confused one back.

"You gave Sam the phone when he was _crying_?"

I blanked out for a second, bewildered.

"What? No..." I said dumbly, then recalled the phone conversation between Sam and his brother. "Dean _made_ him cry! He wasn't crying _before_ I handed the phone to him!" I whispered vehemently. Jim was holding on to that 'we're-in-trouble' expression, though, which made me feel increasingly worse - like I had just done a really _really_ terrible thing.

"What the hell are you looking at me like that for? Knock it off - Dean's a teenager. How bad can it be?" I challenged Jim. At that, Jim snorted ruefully and rolled his eyes as he sat down behind the desk. For a couple of seconds, he rubbed his chin pensively, thinking about what to say to me, then jerked forward towards me conspiratorially.

"Okay. Seriously?" he whispered, his gaze fixed on me. Ready for the secrets of all secrets, I leaned in playfully to hear what Jim had to say. "Haven't seen this kid's dad _at all_ throughout the past three weeks, right?"

"Okay...?" I trailed off, waiting for the punch line. Jim pointed sharply back at Sam behind the curtain.

"But that kid, right? _That_ kid might as well not even have one the way Dean is with him."

Okay yeah. It was my turn to look taken back. I blinked a couple of times, registering what Jim was saying and draping a whole load of skepticism over it. The concept was ridiculous.

"The older brother could only be like four years older than him _max_," I argued, and Jim began shaking his head as if he knew better. "What, he's not four years older?"

"No, he's four years older. But it doesn't make a difference. Seriously," Jim added, his eyes unblinking and fixing me with steadfast sincerity. I canted my head to the side, thinking about it as I held Jim's gaze. Finally, Jim broke it.

"Look if you want to get out of here before you get taken to task, now's your chance," he murmured, shimmying papers on his desk. I guffawed at his tone.

"Yeah right," I replied, thinking Jim was joking, too.

"Fair warning, Cathy," he added, a knowing smile plastered on his face when he glanced back up at me. I rolled my eyes.

"No. Because now I have to see this," I said, smiling, thinking it was absurd that an eighteen year old could ever, 'take me to task.'

Jim gave me that know-it-all smile again and lifted his hands up.

"Okay," he said airily, the implicit message being that he was wiping his hands of the argument then and there. I leaned against the desk and turned away from the office doors to look at the clock. I checked my watch to see if the times corresponded.

Huh. A couple of minutes off.

A few seconds later, to my right I heard Jim give a quick inhale.

"De-" Jim started, getting up.

"Where is he?" I heard a sharp, deep voice demand. It nearly made me jump - the nurse's office was usually a pretty quiet place. I turned around to the sight of a rugged man striding right at me. Shocked, I started backing away. I noticed the two kids in the office were just staring dumbly as he passed by them.

"Jim?" Dean's piercing green eyes only barely took me into consideration as he landed his intensity square in Jim's direction. I looked down to Jim, who seemed to take it in stride. He pointed at the curtained area where Sam was resting and Dean altered his quick steps and disappeared from view behind the curtain immediately. I stood transfixed, looking at the part of the curtain Dean had nearly ripped off in his haste to get to Sam. I slowly turned around to look at Jim, who was smiling at me: _I told you so._

"Seriously, that's _him_!?" I whispered, sounding completely (and embarrassingly) like one of my eighth grade gossip queens. Jim licked his lips and nodded.

"Oh that's him all right."

"He doesn't look eighteen. Holy shit, Jim, he's _huge_!"

Jim shrugged. It was kind of funny, because I feel like in that moment I'd kind of knocked him off guard. Jim was kind of short.

Just as quickly as he'd vanished, Dean appeared before us again, staring both of us down like we'd done something wrong. _Shit_, I thought. I'm never one to eat their words, but Jim had been right. Dean looked ready to murder. He took a half-glance around the room and gave a double-take at the two kids sitting on chairs in the front office area. He pointed at them and looked at Jim.

"Can we get them out of here?" He demanded more than asked. Jim looked over at the kids. "_Now_?" Dean added fiercely. Jim nodded quickly, relenting to Dean, and stood up.

"Hey guys can you pack it in and get back to your classes? You'll be fine just keep your knee iced, Steve, and Tasha-" Jim reached over and grabbed a tissue box to throw to her. She caught it easily. "Tasha, if it starts up again just keep your head down and come back, okay?" Tasha nodded, dabbing her nose, and followed Steve out of the nurse's station. Once gone, Jim and I looked back up at Dean.

"What the _fuck_ is going on? What _happened_?" Dean managed to yell his whisper. Both Jim and I startled and in the back of my mind I realized that Dean had wanted the other kids out just so he could swear at us. _Well_, I figured, _at least he had principles._

Jim gave Dean a calm, collected look of innocence, then turned to look up at me from his seat in the chair. _Thanks Jim, _I thought, _throw me under the bus. Real nice._

Dean followed Jim gaze to me.

"Who're you?" He demanded. I pursed my lips, holding back a smart ass retort. To be fair, his little brother just probably had a seizure (or more than one) and was crying over the phone to him not fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Still, it was weird because it's usually parents that get this worked up. But Jim _had_ warned me.

"Dean, hi. I'm Cathy-" I said, raising my hand for a shake.

"Cathy Gold," Dean interrupted, fire still blazing in his eyes. He reluctantly took my hand. It occurred to me that I was shaking the hand - a formal greeting - with an eighteen year old. Somehow it didn't seem inappropriate though.

"Yes. I was the one that found Sam out on the grounds a few minutes ago."

"Okay. What happened?"

"Well. We're not entirely sure..."

"Guess," Dean challenged, his voice like steel grating. His expression was probably reflecting the same disgust I had on my face while I'd been talking to Greg.

"Ah," I sighed, not knowing where to start. "I think it started the period before lunch. Sam had a seizure of some sort-"

"What kind?"

"I don't know. He was in science-"

"Oh _shit_," Dean swore so vehemently, I was surprised. "What'd Fiano do?"

Inwardly, I was a little relieved. In that second, I saw Dean's anger redirect from me to Fiano. Rightfully so too, I gotta say. I licked my lips and continued.

"I don't know. Sam didn't answer a question when Fiano called on him when he wasn't raising his hand..."

Dean sighed and pushed his hand against his mouth, thinking. He nodded.

"Okay. Sam would never do that. So that's a seizure. What happened?"

"Ah..." I stopped, realizing something, and then looked up at Dean apologetically. "I can't... Go into it, Dean," I finished.

It was policy. I wasn't there for anything prior to finding Sam out on the grounds. I couldn't claim witness to any of the injustices that might've happened to Sam except my that of my own firsthand knowledge.

Dean kept his sharp gaze fixed on me. Swear to god I felt like I was shrinking under his eye.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I stuttered. _Holy shit_, I thought. _Not even _real_ parents have gotten me feeling like this before._

Dean sighed and looked away. I realized I'd been holding my breath.

"Jim?" Dean murmured as he moved to lean against the desk looking altogether burdened.

"Yeah, Dean. He's good to go if you want to take him," Jim replied understandingly. I looked at Jim, confused.

"What? Good to go?" I asked. Jim nodded and gestured to Dean.

"Yeah. Dean's got custody of Sam."

"_What?"_ I mouthed to Jim. Jim didn't say anything, just nodded back and ticked his head to Dean. _He's the real deal. _

I looked back up to Dean, who seemed to have caught the silent conversation I'd been having with Jim. He looked at me.

"You got anything to say to me?" He challenged (even though it sounded more like a threat).

"No... No I just..." I stumbled over my words. "You're in high school," I blurted.

Jim laughed.

"Dean's... Not in high school, Cathy."

"-What makes you think I'm in high school?" Dean asked, confused.

"I... Sam told me."

Dean cringed and looked at Jim.

"Shit he was really out of it, huh?" Jim asked me.

"A-Apparently," I stuttered, annoyed by how misinformed I was about _everything_ going on here. Dean sighed and smacked his hands on the desk.

"Okay. I'm gonna take him home. I'll talk to Sam about Fiano after he takes a nap or something," Dean whispered lowly as he stretched and rubbed his neck. "Cathy, thanks for your help," he shook my hand again and I realized I'd been dismissed.

"Sh..sure," I replied weakly as I watched Dean and Jim walk back into Sam's curtained room. I stood there, a little shell-shocked. I reframed Sam's home situation as quickly as I could: their mother was dead, their father was out on business but... but that didn't matter, as Dean, Sam's older brother by only like _four years_, had custody of the boy. An eighteen year old. Had legal guardianship. Of a thirteen year old. _Seriously?_ How does that even _work_?!

I heard soft murmurs from behind the curtain and, unable to control my curiosity, I stepped closer and opened it just a little to see inside.

Dean was leaning against the couch Sam was lying down on, hovering over Sam and whispering something to him. Jim was leaning against the wall, watching and waiting. Sam's eyes were open, focused on Dean and absently playing with the pendant on Dean's necklace as it dangled over his chest. Dean touched Sam's face - under his eyes - and brushed back Sam's bangs. Sam nodded up at Dean and mumbled something that sounded like a raspy, "yeah."

I looked back up for a second and saw Jim. Still leaning against the wall, his arms folded comfortably, he'd spotted me and shot me a small smile. His eyes shifted again and continued to watch and wait if he was needed.

Dean gained leverage on the couch and lifted Sam all the way up. He kept Sam there for a second.

"Good?" Dean asked, tilting his head to see Sam's downturned face. Sam sniffed and nodded.

"Okay awesome," Dean replied lightheartedly and I gave my own small smile at the teenage colloquialism that... still seemed to fit.

Somehow Dean was pulling off the roles of both teen _and_ parent equally well within the same exact moment here. I'd never seen anything like it before. Frankly, I doubt I ever will again.

Dean angled his way behind Sam and Sam dropped his legs down to the floor so they were sitting side-by-side, Dean hugging Sam close to him.

"Jim?" Dean murmured, and I saw Jim slip into action and block my view.

"Okay buddy. One-two-three _up_," Jim whispered smoothly, and at the word, 'up,' I saw Dean rise up slowly and move to the side behind Sam. "Good?" Jim asked. I didn't hear Sam say anything, but Jim backed away and I could see Dean holding Sam under the arms just like Jim had done earlier.

Only, unlike Jim, Dean was holding Sam with a casual intimacy that only family could really have. I thought Jim seemed gentle about keeping Sam steady on his feet as he walked him to the bed earlier, but I could see now that it was just a false imitation of how relaxed and careful (maybe even loving, I guess you could say) Dean was with the boy. Sam, too, seemed to lean into his brother's presence.

Sam was standing fine, but I think it was obvious that Dean held him so close because Sam simply needed to feel safe and secure. It made sense. I didn't know all the details, but it seemed like Sam had been through a lot this morning.

"Okay I think we're ready to get going, then, yeah?" Dean asked Sam, his arm wrapping around Sam's chest for a second as Sam nodded.

"Yeah."

Holding Sam against him, Dean gave a wan smile to Jim and shook his hand.

"See ya, Jim, thanks," Dean said politely.

"Of course, Dean," Jim replied in kind, following behind Sam and Dean as they walked out of the curtain area and closer to the front office.

I, like an idiot, forgot that I was directly in their line of sight. I backed up a couple of steps before they got out and suddenly Dean stopped and turned around, following Sam with his eyes as Sam left his space and walked up to me. I looked at Dean for permission. _Why was I looking at Dean for permission?!_ I thought. But he nodded, so I bent down and looked up at Sam.

"Hey Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Ms. Gold."

"Yeah, any time, sweet heart."

And then Sam gave me one of his rare, brilliant smiles, dimples and all. I kind of melted at that point and gave him my most genuine smile back. I don't know - the kid had a gift with making people feel good. I glanced over to Dean and realized he was rolling his eyes with a wry smile on his face. After a few seconds, he spoke up.

"Sammy stop charming your English teacher," Dean quipped, reaching out for him. I laughed and appreciated the somewhat possessive undertone in his gesture to get Sam back under his wing. I saw Sam huff a breath of laughter from Dean's joke, roll his eyes with a smile, and turn away to get back. Dean folded his arm around Sam's shoulders and they walked slowly, at Sam's pace, out of the office.

I watched through the windows in the nurse's station as Dean opened the school door for Sam so they could get out onto the black top of the grounds. I couldn't see their car; Dean must've parked around the other side of the building. It occurred to me just then that Dean had known Fiano and I as Sam's science and English teachers without having been told. _Impressive_, I thought, unconsciously tipping my head towards Dean.

"Watch this..." Jim interrupted my thoughts, coming up next to me as I watched the two of them stop on the black top. I turned and saw Jim smiling as he looked outside with me.

"What? They're gonna be okay, right?" I murmured.

"Yeah, just watch," Jim grinned, not bothering to look at me. I turned back to the window and Dean had crouched down to talk to Sam. I saw him swivel around and stand up a little higher so Sam could lean over his back. Dean moved back down a little and grabbed Sam's legs, and hitched him all the way up.

I snorted with laughter.

"Oh my god," I said, silently laughing. I turned to Jim, who was laughing with me. "A piggyback ride?" I said with delight. Jim was chuckling, too. "That is just adorable."

"I know," Jim said, smiling ear to ear. We watched as Dean effortlessly walked across the blacktop with his little brother's head turned on its side against his shoulder, legs dangling weightlessly in the air against his sides. They disappeared as Dean turned the corner and I breathed a sigh of content. Dean was the real deal, all right. So was Sam.

Turning to Jim, I pointed in their general direction with wide eyes. Jim laughed softly and nodded, casually walking back to the desk to sit down. I followed him and he looked back up at me. My expression hadn't changed. A certain level of understanding crossed between us. Jim leaned back in his chair and sighed wistfully.

"I know," he said again.

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Writer's End Note: Thank you so much for reading - Please comment/review if you can spare the time. Thank you! ~ Alex


	8. Camp (Part 1)

**Writer's Note: It's really weird when you realize that you just spent your Sunday writing a 7k (soon to be 8k) story about Sam having epilepsy because you wanted a break from writing devastatinglyhurt!Sam. Aha ah... Wisp & Trialculosis Sam were/are both intense writes for me though, so whatever.**

**Don't notice that this update is a Part 1 and hold off from reading it until Part 2 comes out (lol). This part doesn't even have much of a cliffhanger & I swear I'll update tomorrow.**

**Also, sincere apologies to people who've reviewed Clean Slate and/or Rendezvous recently urging me to update. I feel like such a dick because literally _no one_ has recently reviewed _this_ fic urging me to update, yet this is the one I decided to launch into today.**

**At any rate, I really hope you guys appreciate this. Happy reading!**

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Story 7 - Camp (Part 1)

Words: ~ 4,200

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**A Change of Plans**

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All right. I had all the kids in the cabin. Point one for me, because seriously they're scatter-brained wanderers and one of them, Josh, might be a sociopath. Just kidding. Behavioral issues happen and I think his family's a little off the deep end.

Anyway, I've got all five of them accounted for and inside. Didn't give them any candy tonight either - learned not to do that the hard way a couple nights ago. Don't judge me - I'm new to this whole camp counselor thing. Having Epilepsy and dealing with twelve- and thirteen-year olds (my group's age bracket): I soon came to second-guess my initial conviction that the former was more difficult than the latter. Even when the camp counselor-to-camper ratio is one to five and I've got my junior counselor Gabe on hand.

Sidenote: I don't think Gabe really likes me. He's sixteen years old and keeps looking at me with this smoldering resentment that I don't understand. We're four nights in and I've been trying to be decent to him - make him feel included by engaging in conversation. I'm older than him by six years, I go to Stanford, I'm friendly - doesn't that make me automatically a cool guy to hang out with?

Apparently the answer is no. But on the flip side, there's this kid in my group named Sam who's seriously become my little honorary junior counselor. He's helped me a lot so far and, while I'd never admit it to him, he's better at keeping track of my campers than I am.

He must know though. I consistently search him out whenever I want to find one of my campers. He's never hard to find, either. He's usually around his big brother, Dean. Dean is Tim's junior counselor, which is hilarious because Tim literally embodies the stereotype of socially-awkward, tightly-wound first-year med student. Whenever Dean comes up with an... unconventional... activity for the kids, Carrie (a fellow counselor) and I find each other and just watch Tim's eyes widen with repressed alarm. Cracks us up.

Anyway, back to the cabin: it is actually Dean that's the reason why my kids (campers, whatever) are currently pulling the shitty foam mattresses off their bunk beds and starting to surf into the walls with them. Gabe is sullenly leaning against the wall of the cabin while I'm trying to coordinate the whole thing. The trick is to move the bunk beds into a line against the walls so you have the full length of the cabin free to get a running start. I figured this out when I wandered into Tim's cabin yesterday morning and saw all the bunk beds had been rearranged.

"Hey Tim," I smirked, "what, the place wasn't uh... feng shui enough for you?"

Tim blinked at me, his coffee in hand.

"Huh? No, Dean did it," Tim replied, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he looked down at his bunk. I snorted with laughter.

"Wha- Why?" I asked lazily, smiling. Dean's antics were pretty entertaining. Tim looked back up at me and raised his eyebrows as he shrugged.

"I don't even know. You know how the counselor meeting went past eleven last night?"

"Mmhm."

Counselor meetings started at ten pm and were supposed to last an hour maximum. It was the only time Junior Counselors had full discretion over our campers and, if they were doing their jobs, the kids would be asleep by the time we'd get back to the cabins.

"I got back to the cabin around eleven-thirty, forty-five maybe, and the beds had been moved.

"Kids were asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah - lights were out and everything. Woke up to this, though," Tim said, frowning at his sleeping bag.

"Mm, what?" I murmured, walking over to check out Tim's sleeping bag, covered in glitter.

My amusement was a slow build, but when Tim monotonously murmured, "Kids must've grabbed it from the crafts supplies," as if this was a serious infraction to be investigated, I couldn't not burst into laughter.

Dean's glitter gag was great, but the whole mattress-surfing thing spread farther (I think probably because Dean was betting the glitter would get _on_ Tim as he slept. He didn't take into account the fact that Tim's so rigid that he probably doesn't _move_ when he sleeps). I wouldn't be surprised if all the other counselors were struggling with their seizure-prone campers right now, aspiring to glide into walls without nailing their heads.

You might be reading this and thinking the activity is just begging an injury (that could lead to a seizure). Here's the thing, though: we have two doctors and four nurses on staff and their cabin is only fifty yards off from ours'. These kids don't often get to play fast and loose with their bodies when they're home: overprotective parents is a big reason why but it's also because their surroundings are unpredictable and almost always potentially dangerous.

The general public just doesn't know what to do when you have a seizure. Even the little ones that aren't that big of a deal - it's taxing, man: I remember what it was like (I went into remission a few years ago). There's that awkward silence with your buds... and then you either have to try to explain what just happened (which is rough when you're still coming out of it) or you just stay silent and let the moment pass. _Someone_ will pick up the thread of conversation that had been happening before you'd clocked out. You just have to wait it out and try not to be so disappointed by the indifference (or, worse, judgment that you're brain-damaged _when conscious_).

This camp, though? This camp is safe. All the kids and all the counselors (and junior counselors) have had direct experience with seizures and know what to do when or if the big ones (and little ones) happen. No one's judging and, best of all, no one's _pitying_ you if anything happens.

I'll give you a highlight, because this was pretty funny. It was seven in the morning: groggy campers and counselors alike were just settling down in the dining hall. Chairs and squeaky sneakers echoing around, the bustling sounds of the kitchen cooks setting out the buffet table. The kids all still had high-pitched voices - the cut-off age for the camp was fourteen, so whenever they were loud - even the boys - they were _shrill_. I don't know why but they found it endlessly entertaining to see my plainly unhappy expression when they'd call out to someone across the room. Seven am, man. It was _seven_ in the morning and they'd just _screeeech_...

So anyway, I sat down at an empty table, the standard protocol for counselors: if any of your kids weren't lucking out on finding a clique, the table their counselor sits at is a home base. It'd been about twenty-four hours into the start of the camp (forty-eight for me, as all the counselors and junior counselors had to come a day early to review the camp's first aid and safety policies) - the campers had arrived yesterday morning. Still bleary, I set down my coffee and stretched back in my chair. Rubbing my eyes, I leaned forward to put my elbows on the table and sensed someone plop down in a chair next to me. I opened my eyes to find Dean settling in next to me.

"Yo."

"Hey," I answered casually, yawning, "what's up?"

Dean shrugged, looking out around the dining hall. I liked Dean - we had hit it off during the first aid training day. I found myself bantering with him in whispers during the reviews: it was nothing we didn't already know anyway. At one point Dean made me laugh in the middle of a lecture about photosensitivity. The camp director was saying that fireworks and strobe lights were banned from the camp.

Dean tsked with exaggerated disappointment and swore.

"What?" I asked quietly.

"I've... got my arsenal of fireworks and strobe lights in the car," Dean deadpanned.

"Do you have a strong flashlight?" I riffed back.

"Yeah but I'd have to shine it like _at_ them - I don't know if they'd stay still long enough for it to work."

"I don't know man, some of them go down," I slapped my hands quietly, "after just like a _second_..."

We sniggered quietly, acknowledging that we were probably going to hell as the lecture continued.

Needless to say, Dean had a great, dark sense of humor that I appreciated. That night I was going over Sam's medical history (part of the portfolio counselors get for all of their campers) and discovered that Sam was actually one of the photosensitive kids that was attending. Oddly enough, that detail made me respect Dean more for having the ability to joke about it so easily. Either that or he was a total ass, but I really didn't get that vibe off him. He came off calm and controlled, a unique quality for a seventeen year old, yet it was unmistakable.

Thinking about that day, I turned to Dean at the breakfast table and asked him wryly if he had any photosensitive kids in his group. He looked up at me, eyebrows raised, then caught on and chuckled.

"No such luck," he replied. I nodded, willing to let the conversation drop. Dean had turned back to absently watch the kids. Soon, the onslaught for seats at my table was under way - mostly boys from Dean and I's camp groups. I could tell that the boys in Dean's group had already taken a liking to him as they peppered him with weird questions only pre-adolescents found funny and/or interesting. I think at one point a kid walked up and asked Dean whether he peed sitting down and I couldn't stop laughing at Dean's double-take and the harassed confusion with which he whispered, "_What?"_ before another camper distracted him back to the table.

A few minutes later, I saw Sam walk into the dining hall and realized that all the seats at my table were taken. Wasn't a hundred percent sure what to do about that (remember, I'm new to this whole counselor thing), but let it go as Sam came over to us.

"Hey," Sam said airily, sidling up next to Dean where he was sitting. Dean leaned back to look up at his brother.

"Hey dude, pull up a chair."

"'kay," Sam murmured, walking away tiredly to grab one of the chairs stacked up against the wall nearby. It dawned on me that Dean was probably a great temperature gauge for how Sam was doing. Sam looked and sounded sleepy - like he hadn't gotten enough sleep (which can be bad - lowers the seizure threshold for some people), but Dean didn't look concerned. Probably just the way Sam normally woke up.

Sam started to drag the chair over, accidentally making a loud noise that reverberated around the entire hall as the metal grated and screeched against the floor. The hall rang out with kids' reactions - groans and jeers at the piercing sound and Sam immediately stopped moving, a slow blush coming over him as he groggily put his hands up in defense, overwhelmed, and looked around apologetically.

I heard Dean snort with laughter as he got up from his seat and walked over. Sam looked openly to Dean and mouthed, 'sorry,' as his brother approached. I saw Dean wave off Sam's apology just before picking the chair up to bring it over.

The hall's volume died back down to the dull roar that it had been and the two of them walked in sync together. Sam visibly got over his discomfort, arriving at the table with a relaxed (but still fatigued) chortle at something Dean had just said.

Dean set the chair down next to his and Sam moved to sit just as Alicia, the camp director, announced it was our table's turn to go up to the buffet. The sound of the boys' ear-splittingly loud chairs was testament to their enthusiasm for food as they rushed up to the buffet.

About twenty minutes later, Sam was chowing down, fully awake and animated. He was listening intently, a glint of pure amusement on his face as Dean laid down challenges to the boys for the days' scheduled activities.

"Okay okay no. Three bull's eyes. You do _three_ bull's eyes, Jake, and I'll give you a reward."

"-What's the reward?"

"I'll take that bet! I can do it!"

"Are you kidding?! I can't do three on the first day - I have to practice!" Jake complained, his expression slightly hurt.

"Okay," Dean replied to Jake calmly, "but," he looked around the table, "who just said they'd take the bet?" he asked seriously, pointing at the boys around the table.

"Me!" A kid named Cole claimed, raising his hand confidently. Dean pointed at Cole and widened his eyes with mock gravitas.

"You serious?"

"Yeah but wait what's the reward?" Cole asked.

"Um, I don't know. Five dollars!" Dean said, obviously coming up with that misguided idea off the top of his head. The kids whooped with excitement as I raised an eyebrow, rolled my eyes and clapped Dean against the shoulder. He looked back at me innocently and I gave a slight shake of my head as I mouthed, 'candy.'

In an effort to be a cool counselor, I'd brought a stash of sweets with me in my car and I had no problem sharing.

"_Candy!_" Dean took it and ran with it. The table groaned.

"No, let's do the five dollars-!"

"Yeah let's bet money!"

"No, no we're not betting with money anymore - it's gonna be candy," Dean corrected quickly, stifling the complaints. He shot me a crooked grin, tacitly apologizing for having almost started up a gambling ring in this wholesome Epilepsy camp. I chuckled and waved it off: no big deal.

"You know, we're not eight, Dean," Sam murmured under his breath, smiling up at his brother as he reached for the paper dixie cup that held his meds. The nurses had come around mid-meal to drop off everyone's prescriptions. Dean looked over to Sam and gave him a small shove.

"Shut up," he whispered comically, then looked up at the table, "I like candy. Everybody likes candy, who doesn't like candy? It's a good reward," Dean concluded jovially.

"What kind of candy? I have diabetes!" A random kid called out. Dean immediately leaned over to me just as I took a bite of my scrambled eggs.

"Max has diabetes - do you have-?" he asked in an undertone. I nodded, trying to finish my bite.

"Yeah I've got sugar free gum," I coughed. Dean nodded and turned back.

"S'cool, Max, we got you covered, trooper."

"Okay," Max replied, satisfied.

"Okay but so... _Cole_," Dean said, fixing his gaze on the boy.

"Yeah," Cole replied, no nonsense as he took another bite of his hash browns.

"Three bull's eyes today. I want to see them," Dean ordered playfully. Cole laughed.

"Okay."

"I have another wager though," Dean added, rubbing his hands together, ramping up suspense.

"What?!"

Dean grinned and leaned towards Sam, putting his arm around the back of his chair. Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother's close proximity.

"You're doing archery today, right?" He asked casually. Sam nodded and reached out for his plastic cup of water.

"Okay," Dean turned back to the table, "I bet that I can get more bull's eyes than Sam today."

Sam snorted into the cup and looked at Dean, his expression the definition of skepticism. Everybody saw it, too. Like Sam _knew_ he'd be able to beat Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows, jerking his head back with indignation.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean shot at his brother playfully. Sam gave a wry smile and shook his head.

"What- Shh, guys - _guys!_ - What're the stakes, Dean?" I prompted, trying to be heard by the throng of boys asking questions and throwing out their opinions about whether Dean or Sam were better at archery (a thing about kids this age: speculation is as good as fact sometimes).

"All right. The stakes. If _I _beat Sam," Dean paused for dramatic effect, "then for the rest of camp, you guys have to be my waiter and take my order during meal times."

The boys laughed. Good one. It was a light-hearted chore that'd likely fail to happen even if Dean did win. After a second, the boys prompted about what would happen if Sam won. Dean turned to Sam, who grinned evilly.

"If _I_ win, then Dean's gotta wear Joe's hat for a whole day," Sam said, his laughter mixing in with the eruption that came from the table. Joe, a fellow counselor and father to one of the younger campers, had brought a rainbow-patterned baseball cap with a plastic spinning fan sprouting from the top. Massive, neon pink sunglasses had been glued onto it as well, making it impossible to wear without the added accessory.

This hat had been the most celebrated prop of the day yesterday, with several kids swapping it onto their heads every five minutes. Multiple times over the kids had tried to get it onto Dean who'd successfully managed to dodge their attempts. He was a mature seventeen year old, sure, but he was still seventeen: that hat was just _not cool_.

At Sam's announcement, Dean slumped down with disappointment, probably staring daggers at Sam (I couldn't see his expression - his back was facing me). Silent communication passed between them - I could only see Sam's face he was obviously enjoying this.

"You _suck_," Dean said simply, sounding defeated already. Sam laughed and put his palms up.

"_You_ suck," he pointed at Dean, "- you _started_ it," he retorted cheerfully. I smiled at Sam's dimples deepening as he looked at Dean.

The rest of the boys had pulled out of Sam and Dean's conversation a little bit, one of them having announced that even if Sam _didn't_ hit enough bull's eyes today, one way or another they'd make sure Dean would have to wear that hat at some point.

The table was controlled chaos, the boys laughing and shouting - playing with their food (a camp thing: only parents give a shit about manners) and talking. I was pleased: everyone was getting along. I got up to check everyone had taken their meds while Dean continued to distract them. I'd just sat down when Cole called out from across the table.

"Sam!"

Sam glanced over.

"Yeah?"

"Are you like really good at archery?"

The kids all looked to Sam.

Sam smiled and pointed with panache at Dean with the same hand that held his plastic cup of water. My eyes squinted with concern as I saw Sam's hand tremble. I noticed Dean pull his chair up closer to Sam.

"Better 'n _'imm_..." Sam hummed, then stopped like it took effort, blinking. The kids at the table picked up on it.

"Jay, Sam's-"

"I know, Cole, it's cool," I said, "Ask him again later," I suggested, watching Dean's phenomenal reflexes as he leaned over his brother smoothly. Totally relaxed, Dean pulled the cup from Sam's hand just before it started doing the tango. "_Shi-_," I heard Sam whisper as he watched his own hand working itself out. Without taking his eyes off Sam, Dean set the cup down on the table.

"You good?" Dean murmured, his voice calm and steady. The kids at the table had resumed conversation, taking Sam's seizure at the table in stride.

"Yeah.., just..." Sam murmured, his seizing muscles starting to travel. Dean coolly wrapped an arm around Sam's back just as the seizure reached his shoulder and forced him to crook his neck to the side, curling his body.

Sam would've fallen out of his chair if Dean hadn't been holding him. The camper that'd been sitting next to him (Oliver, I know now) had been pretty quiet at the table, but at Sam's muffled attempt at a swear I watched him look up and lose his page to spot Sam.

It was just a second more and Sam's side relaxed.

"Ah," Sam breathed with irritation, starting to flex his neck and arm. Dean rubbed Sam's back for a second before pulling back. Oliver spoke up softly.

"You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah s'just...so..._annoying_..." he murmured, flashing an embarrassed smile. "Thanks," he added genuinely.

"Sam, you cool?" Cole piped up from across the table. It wasn't obnoxious, though: it was the caring tone of voice he'd inherited from his parents after _he'd _have seizures. I was struck by how adult Cole sounded: he was older than most of the campers, but he was still only _just_ fourteen - an age when dripping sarcasm and mockery was more the norm. It took me another twenty-four hours to figure out that literally every kid here had a switch from fun-loving idiot-child to serious and aware caretaker. The realization made me even more dedicated to making sure they could be fun-loving idiots which, I discovered, meant that Dean and I were destined to be buds.

Sam flinched up at Cole's check and nodded.

"Yeah totally."

"Are you really good at archery?" Cole repeated his question as if nothing had happened. Sam smiled, about to answer, when Dean answered for him.

"Sam is so good I'm gonna be _praying_ for more simple partials today," Dean joked, referring to the type of seizure Sam had just had.

My jaw fell in shock at Dean's openly callous remark as the table collapsed into laughter. Sam directed a well-aimed punch into his brother's side and Dean caught his wrists as he cracked up.

"Dude you're such a jerk," Sam said, laughing as he tried to tug his arms away from Dean's hold. Dean was smiling, entertained at Sam's ineffective efforts to pull away, but soon let go as he muttered.

"Bitch."

It was the most counter-intuitive moment to think was, 'cute,' but allow me to drop my manly stoicism for a second: somehow it just was.

And then the kids just started knocking on the table together in rhythm, which confused the shit out of me. I found out later it was a tradition to, 'knock on wood,' when someone mentioned seizures using clinical terms. Every camp has its _things_, I guess.

Sam had started talking to Oliver about the book he was reading and Dean leaned back in his chair, stretching. He glanced over to me.

"Hey," he said, slapping my knee.

"Yeah, what?" I said, still baffled at what had just happened with the table-banging thing.

"We need to torch that hat before Sam gets out on the field."

I snorted a laugh.

"No way, dude. Ya gotta wear it," I replied, then cocked my head to the side, "_with_ the cheesy leather jacket," I said, smirking. Dean rolled his eyes and started laughing silently, shaking his head, no doubt lamenting what he'd gotten himself into.

"S'not cheesy," he griped comically.

Right now, though, like I said, we're four nights into camp and, if you're wondering, the answer is yes. Dean _did _end up wearing the hat the following day. He was dedicated too, even going so far as to wear it during pool time. I think I have some great photos of him attempting to play water volleyball. Definitely some legit shots of him throwing Sam into the deep end. The kids loved it. Especially, I think, Sam.

I've had my moments, too. Like right now, I'm definitely taking after Dean in letting the kids try out their 'skillz' with mattress surfing. And earlier this evening Dean and I cross-dressed for dinner after I'd made the inexcusable mistake of going in with Dean on another ill-fated bet. To be fair though, I knew Dean was throwing them. After he'd made a fool of himself with Joe's hat, it was pretty much downhill from there: Dean was willing to model a clown so the kids could be the fun-loving idiots. It was working.

So when I looked around, appraising the situation in the cabin and taking count, I was surprised to find that I was down a camper.

"Hey Gabe who're we missing?"

"Huh?" Gabe asked, oblivious.

"Where's Sam?"

Gabe looked around wearing a surprised expression, as if just realizing that the other four campers were even _in_ the cabin. Bizarre guy, Gabe.

"I don't know-"

"-All right," I overlapped his words impatiently, annoyed. Grabbing my flashlight, I walked out of the cabin to look around. Sam didn't wander - he must've gone to the bathroom. We use the buddy system at night though: we're in the woods.

I walked to the bathrooms and called Sam's name.

No answer.

I listened intently for any sound around the stalls, but there was no sound of movement. Stumped, I turned around to look out over the campus - the cabins were snugged into various small clearings, all connected by well-maintained sidewalk paths that led downhill towards the dining hall.

"Sam!" I called out again, my voice echoing back to me.

* * *

**Writer's Note:** **Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment/review if you can spare the time!**


	9. Camp (Part 2)

__Story 7 - Camp (Part 2)

Words: ~ 5,500

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Stumped, I turned around to look out over the campus - the cabins were snugged into various small clearings, all connected by well-maintained sidewalk paths that led downhill towards the dining hall._

_"Sam!" I called out again, my voice echoing back to me._

* * *

"-Yeah?" I heard a small voice call back. I turned my flashlight in the direction of my cabin.

"Sam, where are you?" I called out again, this time softly, knowing that he was nearby.

"Hey - sorry - I'm here," Sam replied, his voice sounding a little strained. I squinted as I came closer to the cabin and saw Sam's flashlight turn on. He appeared out from behind the cabin.

"Hey dude, why're you over there?" I asked, stepping my way carefully through the thicket to meet him.

"There's like... a bench here..." Sam murmured, disappearing from view again until I rounded the corner. He was right - there was a decent wooden bench built against the building's exterior, replete with decaying wooden floorboards beneath it: a half-hearted attempt to make a deck, I supposed.

"Huh. Cool," I said simply, watching as Sam sat back down and turned his flashlight off. "So you're just... sitting in the dark alone?" I asked, biting back the sardonic tone I would normally have in this situation. I saw Sam shrug in the darkness.

"When'd you go into remission?" Sam asked hesitantly. Sighing, I turned off my flashlight and settled onto the bench next to him.

"Few years ago."

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen."

"That must've been cool."

I nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah. It was."

A beat of silence passed.

"Did you get a lot of grand mals?"

"Eh, not really. Do you?"

"Not really."

"Yeah..." I trailed off, not sure where we were headed.

"I get them sometimes though," Sam murmured. I waited for him to continue but he didn't.

"-Yeah?" I prompted.

"Yeah," Sam replied, sounding sad. I didn't really know what to say, so I went with something stupid.

"They suck."

Sam huffed a laugh. He was fidgeting with a stick or something and threw a broken piece of it at the ground bitterly.

"They really do."

I nodded lazily and folded my arms across my chest: it was chilly out. I squinted over at Sam, making sure he had layers on. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, probably a hand-me-down: definitely warm enough.

"You know..." Sam started, then stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't know they looked like that."

"-looked like wha- _Oh_," I said, because I'm an idiot. Megan Lute, one of Carrie's campers, had had a grand mal earlier today. Really rare, honestly. Last year there'd been grand mal total of zero (haha).

Still, I was a little off-put that this was Sam's first time seeing a grand mal. Most of the kids here had seen them - mostly when they were at Epilepsy events (including this camp, I guess) and/or the hospital.

"So... that was the first time you'd ever seen a grand mal?" I clarified, inwardly wincing. I saw Sam's head nodding in the dark. He pulled his hoodie up, a weird gesture: it wasn't _that_ cold.

"Not even at the hospital?"

Sam shook his head. Hm. I remember witnessing mine for the first time in the hospital when I was like seven years old. It was freaky but, well, actually I hadn't had a grand mal until I was twelve, so it's not like I had to come to terms with the fact that I'd ever looked like that without knowing.

"I, um, I don't go to the hospital that often," Sam said thickly, palming his hood further down over his face. I twisted my lips to the side, nodding in thought.

I mean, okay.

Silence fell between us again.

The crickets were loud tonight.

I finally sighed, concluding that I was terrible at this. Sam sniffed and gave a small gasp and that's when I was _positive_ I was terrible at this. Worried, I turned over to look at him.

"Hey, Sam, c'mon, it's okay, bud," I said roughly, hazarding an arm around his shoulders. Sam hunched and leaned in against me. I felt him jerk with another silent cry and... man, my heart went out to him. I moved closer and tightened my hold. I bit my lip, thinking.

Yeah. I needed Dean.

I heard Gabe call out from the front of the cabin and relief washed over me. I squeezed Sam reassuringly before I called back. I felt - and heard - Sam give another quiet sob and I pulled him closer, cringing with sympathy.

"Yeah hey Gabe we're around back!"

I flicked my flashlight on and shined it out past the side of the building so Gabe could spot us. Sure enough, Gabe's beam lit up the same spot as mine for a second and then vanished. I heard his trampling footsteps over the brush to get to the back.

"Hey guys what're you doing back here the mattresses are starting to-" Gabe babbled lazily as he navigated the forest floor. I waited until he was within earshot to interrupt him.

"Gabe - hey, _Gabe_," I said sharply, impressed with myself that my tone of voice conveyed an urgency that had effectively shut the teen up. He turned around the corner.

"-What?" Gabe asked bluntly, shining the light over Sam and I, getting me right in the eyes. I squinted, irritated.

"Gabe, go get Dean for me, " I ordered, my voice having taken on this firm yet quiet tone.

Gabe's stupid flashlight remained fixed on us, his gaze just staring at Sam huddled against my side. This friggin' kid, man.

"_Gabe_! Now would be good-!"

"Okay," Gabe replied carelessly.

"Move faster," I yelled after him, hearing his slow tromps as he walked back to the front of the cabin. I rolled my eyes and knocked my head lightly against the wall. Note to self: find Gabe's pot tomorrow.

I turned my gaze back down to Sam and rubbed his arm clinically, feeling awkward. I didn't have siblings and I _really_ didn't have any experience with emotionally vulnerable thirteen year olds.

"You okay?" I asked tentatively.

He sniffed and nodded against me, but he didn't move away. He sniffed again, sounding this time like he was regaining composure. I was wrong - he was just setting up to talk.

"I jus... just didn't know..." Sam wept. I squeezed his arm again.

"I know, I know. It's kind of scary, right?" I replied gently, not knowing I had it in me to sound so understanding. Still, it was a dumb thing to say. I'm sure that if Sam wasn't so upset right now he'd be rolling his eyes and sarcastically quipping back, "understatement, Jay, way to be."

Damn, I want _that_ kid back.

... Where the fuck is Dean?

"Like, I've had grand mals in public places and stuff - in school..." Sam tapered off, and I felt him shudder under me.

"Yeah but Sam, it's not a big deal..." I said softly, trying to make him feel better. Wrong move. Sam shifted suddenly and I pulled away, unsure.

"It _is_ a big deal!" he cried. "It's _such_ a big deal..." he trailed off as he doubled over on the bench.

God, this was torture.

"Sam, no..." I said, at a loss. I reached out and started rubbing his back, feeling his body shake under my hand. "It's gonna be okay, Sam," I added, inwardly rolling my eyes.

I sat up straight at the sound of muffled voices beyond us and prayed it was Gabe with Dean in tow. When I heard the distinctly carefree cadence of Dean's voice, I tried to conceal the desperate sigh of relief breaking out of me. I heard them start into the thicket along the side of the cabin to get to us. I could hear them talking.

"What the hell is this some late-night treasure hunt?" Dean joked.

"Nah man they're back here," Gabe replied monotonously, betraying nothing.

"Is this the part where you kill me, Gabe?" Dean deadpanned, their flashlights brightening as they came closer. Gabe didn't say anything.

And, you know what? _Fuck Gabe_. When a fucking thirteen year old is freaking out and his brother is only like two cabins down, you move your ass to get him and let him know what's going down. Dean obviously had _no_ idea Sam was so upset and that was so _shitty_.

Repressing my fury for the moment, I leaned over towards the side of the cabin.

"Hey - over here," I said lamely.

"-Jay?" Dean called. I heard Dean's steps pick up pace through the brush.

"Yeah."

"Got Sam?"

"Yeah."

"'kay you got this, I'm gonna go back to the cabin," I heard Gabe mutter before he reached us.

Dean appeared from around the corner and flashed his light on the two of us on the bench. My hand was still on Sam's back and Sam was still hooded and hunched over, trying to keep it together. I squinted up at Dean, inadvertently giving him the sympathetic look I'd been wearing the whole time I was with Sam.

I don't know what I was expecting, honestly. I think maybe I thought Dean would soften at the sight of us. That he'd count me in on the take-care-of-Sam team and ask me calmly what had happened. That he'd casually move to take a seat on Sam's other side and take over the awkward back-patting I was doing.

That's... not what he did, though.

I'd never seen someone react the way Dean did. One second, I swear he was about to ask me what was up, eyes bright and mischievous, ready and expecting to throw down some strategy for the girls' cabins pranks - the next second a flash of pure panic ripped through him as he took in the scene. His eyes shot open, his breath visibly caught, his face blanched. It literally caused _my_ heart to race, thinking I had misjudged the situation entirely and that something so much worse was happening I just didn't know about.

Because the sight of this cocky bastard dropping the facade was disturbing.

Even more disturbing was the next shift that came so suddenly I think I actually gasped a little. His entire bearing drew up into what I realized was a serious effort to repress rage.

_At me_.

I think my jaw dropped at the sight. Dean was a fuckin' scary guy.

This all happened in a matter of milliseconds but it felt like ages. I physically shrank under his gaze, snatched my hand off Sam's back, and flinched when he spoke.

"Jay, what the _fuck's_ going on?" Dean whispered through gritted teeth as he darted forward.

And, shit. I didn't know a seventeen year old could make me feel like I had done something so terrible it would never be forgiven.

"Uh-" I said, speechless, but Dean had already bypassed me to bend down in front of Sam.

"-Sam?!" Dean called anxiously, keeping his flashlight shining off in the distance, "_Sam_!" he repeated, anger leaking into his tone. I suddenly felt bad for _Sam_. Nothing like the undivided attention of Dean's wrath.

It was dark, but I saw Dean pull Sam's hood down roughly and push his head up to face him. Sam huffed and startled at the treatment, putting his hands up in what I thought was defense. Instead Sam just braced them on Dean's arms, leaning _towards_ Dean, and tried to look down again.

"Hey," Dean gave a shove against Sam's chest so Sam would look back up at him. "You hurt?" he asked, lifting his flashlight slowly until it was above Sam's head and streaming down his face. Dean was keeping the beam really steady given his current temper too...

Oh. Sam was photosensitive. Quick flashes and direct rays into the eyes (especially at night where the contrast is so high) can cause seizures. Dean was tilting the flashlight from above because Sam kept trying to look down.

Dean threaded his hand through Sam's hair and pushed his head back to get a better look. "Dean," Sam almost whined, "no, 'm not hurt," he mumbled.

And that's when Dean shifted again, his entire demeanor melting, his head tilting and leaning closer when he saw the tear tracks on Sam's face. He pulled his hand down from Sam's hair and touched Sam's face gently.

"D'you have a seizure?" He asked, his voice suddenly soft and quiet.

Sam sniffed, shook his head and gulped.

Dean flicked off his flashlight.

"Okay..." Dean drawled. Even in the dark, it was quite clear that Dean was expecting someone to speak up and fill him in. He kept a hand on Sam's shoulder and I could see him lean closer. Sam shook his head.

I coughed and I could see Dean's head turn to look at me. I _felt_ him staring at me.

"Sam saw Megan have that grand mal," I said, my voice low.

My eyes had been accustomed to the dark earlier - I could see Dean's silhouette as he bobbed his head back in surprise.

"So?"

Dean looked between Sam and I.

"Um," I said, confused. Dean was so in sync with Sam I figured he'd just get it when I told him about Megan. Sam lifted his hood back over his head and went back to looking at the ground with arms crossed.

"H-he says he's never seen a grand mal before," I explained.

"What?" Dean turned to look at Sam from his crouched position. "Yeah you have," he whispered.

Sam shook his head.

"Yeah on tv and stuff-" Dean said reasonably. Sam shook his head again and sniffed.

"-not real," Sam murmured, his voice strained.

"Okay," Dean said patiently, "so what was different?"

Good question. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Sam was going to answer it. I could only hear his breathing which was still shaky. I resettled myself on the bench, angling a little less at Sam so he wouldn't feel pressured to say something. Dean remained crouching in front of Sam though, his hand still bracing the kid's shoulder, watching him in the dark.

Felt like awhile. Too long - and I felt like maybe the question was asking too much of Sam. I thought to ask the two of them to come inside the cabin - or at least to the front deck area - to continue this. It'd give Sam a break. I opened my mouth and before I got a word out, Sam spoke.

"Like..." Sam rasped, trying to hold back tears, and took a breath, "I just... _get_... why people act like they do after..."

Dean leaned his head in.

"-after you have seizures?"

Sam nodded. He put his hand on his head and pulled the hood down further over his face. I could tell he'd started crying again.

"Yeah, it's-so-_stupid_-but-they-always-look-"

"All right," Dean interrupted Sam's choked-up words in a whisper. He lifted up and moved onto the bench, reaching his arms out. Sam fell against him, shaking.

"-look _scared_," Sam wept, finishing his sentence against Dean's shoulder.

"Okay," Dean whispered, starting to rub Sam's back. He cupped Sam's hooded head as Sam made another loud gasp and drew the kid closer. Sam clutched back and I could see Dean start to rock them, his hushes barely whispers against Sam's ear.

This was more affection than I thought Dean was capable of, the only hint being that unerring sense of calm control he exuded that I was talking about before. Dean had been so carefree and _goofy_ during his time here that I'd neglected to notice he was a better supervisor and organizer than most of the full-fledged counselors. You just don't get that confidence or ability without having experienced the full spectrum of scenarios. It was pretty clear to me now that Dean wasn't just a good kid with a dark sense of humor and a penchant for silliness. I watched him quietly comforting his little brother, who was starting to relax in his arms, and realized that I'd only been observing the surface of Dean's capacity this whole time. I'd been taking him with a grain of salt, still always thinking that I knew better than him as an older guy that had actually _had_ Epilepsy.

Now all I found myself doing was wishing that I'd had siblings. My parents were great but as I'd gotten older - around Sam's age, actually - it'd get embarrassing for me, the level of care and concern my seizures elicited from them. It was an age when I'd wanted to pull away, be my own person, spend time with friends. My parents represented dependence which I didn't like, but I couldn't deny that they were the two people I trusted most if I was going to have a seizure. It'd been a difficult time. Warring for independence when you have any serious medical condition is a series of knock-down drag-out battles. I didn't envy what my campers were on the cusp of experiencing in that department.

But Sam? I envied Sam a little right then. Everyone, including me, just thought Dean was cool. None of us registered that he was, in nearly every way, Sam's guardian because he was still a kid - still young - still acting like he had nothing to lose and all the time in the world. He came off unburdened and free-lanced. But watching him now in the dark with his brother, he was so obviously accustomed to expressing the steady unconditional love that only parents usually give. No one would have suspected this of Dean - a lot of siblings (even the older ones) are still just too young to become emotional anchors like this.

Sam's breathing had settled down and he'd turned quiet, still huddled against Dean (probably appreciating the shared body heat; it was getting colder), still allowing Dean's reassuring touches and rubs. I could see Dean's silhouette rise briefly before leaning back down again, humming a long, deep sigh. It sounded sleepy, no doubt an unconscious form of suggestion to his little brother: match my breath, slow your pulse down, _start getting tired_. Dean pulled his head back a little and tilted it when he looked at his brother.

"Y'know, it's not scary, Sammy," he confided gently. Sam sniffed and took a hand off his brother's back to wipe his eyes.

"It was pretty freaky," he replied, disagreeing with his brother without sounding antagonistic. He sounded like he wanted Dean to agree with him. Dean pulled Sam back to lean against the wall with him and Sam followed, pulling his feet up onto the edge of the bench. He was practically a ball now, glued against Dean's side under his arm.

Dean's feet were planted on the ground, chest wide but angled towards his brother: open, kind, a stabilizing presence for his insecure brother.

"No, it wasn't," Dean whispered steadily, the same tone of voice he'd had before.

"She bit her tongue," Sam said, as if citing evidence. I saw Dean shrug and casually pull Sam closer.

"That happens."

"But-"

"Sammy how many times have we seen..." Dean stopped as if catching himself. My brows furrowed with confusion, but Sam must've understood because he replied immediately.

"That's different, that's-"

"It's not different," Dean reassured. I saw him shaking his head, believing his own words. I didn't understand, but whatever. It seemed like Dean was getting through to him.

"I... didn't know you had to see me looking like that," Sam said, sounding embarrassed. To my surprise, Dean started chuckling.

"You serious?"

Silence. I got the feeling like Dean was just contributing to his embarrassment there. It didn't last long.

"S'just floor-dancin', dude," Dean said and I almost laughed. That was the non-clinical term Dean had come up so he the kids wouldn't knock the foundations the wood cabins down. I could tell Dean was smiling when he said it too, but a second later he added, "'sides, you're not even conscious. It doesn't bother me."

Sam sniffed and gave a small laugh, making my heart jump for joy. He needed to snap out of it - I really wanted my dorky thirteen year old camper back.

"Yeah but you don't count," Sam said reasonably. Dean laughed and gave a sigh.

"I _always_ count," he said wryly, only I think everyone sensed the truth in it.

"It bothers people though..."

"People can suck it," Dean replied, irritated that Sam was so preoccupied with other people.

"Fine, it bothers _me_," Sam said, cutting to the issue.

"Well it _shouldn't_," Dean shot back sharply, surprising me. Dean was consoling one minute, pissed off at Sam the next... I reframed it in my head too, trying to get perspective: Dean's now pissed at Sam for being upset about seeing Megan have a seizure-?

Well, actually, I can see it. Like I said before, pity isn't a thing here. And it's _not_ like Megan was conscious. Sam knows the deal: knows any sympathy to be doled out should be for Megan when she wakes up exhausted with that shitty copper taste in her mouth. Soft foods from here on out for her at camp, but it's nothing any of us haven't dealt with before. She's twelve years old - if the camp (and the counselors) do their job right, she'll be flinging the apple sauce mush at her crush in no time, the grand mal virtually forgotten.

"It shouldn't, all right?" Dean repeated himself softly, his tone switching back to tender as he put his hand on Sam's head and pulled him in. He ducked his head down and gave his little brother a kiss on the forehead.

"Okay," Sam sniffled, nodding, and it sounded final. Dean reached around to give Sam a full hug and yeah: I really wish I'd had a brother like him growing up.

They parted and Dean brushed Sam's hood down from his head, landing a hand in his hair and smoothing it affectionately.

"You okay?"

I saw Sam nod.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, his voice returning back to even.

"Good," Dean murmured, and before I knew what was happening Dean had bent Sam down into a crouch, arm twisting around his neck in a hold and started giving Sam a noogie.

"Ow, _DEAN!" _Sam wailed as Dean laughed.

"I'm so _happy-_," Dean pressed harder against his writhing brother, "-that you're _okay_ now!"

Sam twisted around on the bench, trying to get out from under his brother's hold. Dean had to stop, cracking up at Sam's maneuvers and trying to get him back into the hold.

Even I started chuckling actually, my eyes so accustomed to the dark that I could see when Sam's arms and feet shot out from the balled position he'd been in to kick and scrape away from his brother. Sam fell against the bench on his back in the midst of his struggle and I saw Dean jump over and catch him before Sam's goofy panic would've caused a fall off the edge.

"Okay guys, c'mon," I spoke up as Dean pulled his little brother up to his feet and landed a playfully heavy arm around Sam's frame. I turned my flashlight on and stood up, ready to lead the way back around to the front of the cabin. I took the first step and heard the two of them start to follow.

"Oh hey y'know, speaking of seizures, Sammy did I tell you about what Jay and I were talking about yesterday?"

_Oh no_, I thought, _what were Dean and I talking about yesterday?_

"No what?" Sam asked, his voice clear and back to normal.

"We're on the California fault line-"

I smiled, knowing where this was going. I hoped Sam had a similar sense of humor to his brother.

"The San Andreas fault line, yeah-" Sam interrupted, impressing me.

"-yeah and so earthquakes are more common, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, although he could've said, 'duh,' and it would've had the same meaning. Dean started chuckling at what he was about to say.

"So we were laughing that if we had an earthquake here, there'd be a delayed response because everyone'd think they were about to have an aura-"

Sam didn't say anything and I inwardly cringed, hoping that all was well behind me.

"The San Andreas fault: gas-lighting epileptics since 1906," Sam deadpanned, making me laugh so hard that I turned around to look at them. I didn't get the year he'd cited, but whatever. Later I looked it up and found out that 1906 was the San Francisco Earthquake. Sam was a smart, smart kid.

As we reached the front of the cabin, I turned around to face them.

"Okay so it's kind of late. Sam you want to grab your stuff to get ready for bed? I want to talk to Dean a sec."

"Sure," Sam said easily, breaking from his brother's side to go into the cabin. The lights were still on, the kids still awake and wide-eyed because Gabe sucked. It was ten forty-five: I'd missed the counselor meeting. I figured Gabe must have taken care of that and told someone because no one had come looking for me. Tim, I realized, must've had to forfeit the meeting too since Dean had been with me and the kids needed to be supervised at all times.

Not a big deal. We mostly just laughed about the day's activities and updated the status of kids that seemed to be having a rough time. Tim and I would get a debrief tomorrow morning from Alicia.

Dean watched Sam go inside and turned back to me.

"Everything cool?" I asked seriously, wanting a genuine answer.

"Yeah. Can I sleep in the cabin tonight?"

"Sure yeah Sam's bunk has an empty one next to it. Go check with Tim - I'll take Sam to the bathrooms."

Dean nodded and gave a sideways smile before taking off. I watched him take a few steps, then stop. He turned around to look at me.

"Hey- um..."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Sorry about, uh," Dean stammered, unable to say the right words. I got it, though. _Sorry I thought you had hurt Sam - sorry if I may have scared you_.

He _had_ scared me too, so it was a meaningful apology to me.

"No, dude," I waved, "It's forgotten, man," I replied, sounding smoother than I felt.

"All right cool," Dean smiled and turned back to jog towards Tim's cable.

Sam came out of the cabin, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand.

"Where's Dean?"

"He'll be back. Just going over to Tim's cabin to check the kids and get his sleeping bag," I replied casually, starting to walk with Sam over to the bathrooms.

"He's sleeping in our cabin tonight?" Sam asked. I couldn't help but smile a little at the tone of Sam's attempted nonchalance. He was obviously delighted to hear the news. I nodded.

"Yup."

When Dean arrived to our cabin with his sleeping bag, it caused something of an uproar. All the kids wanted to know if he was going to stay in our cabin for longer, why he hadn't slept over with us before, what bunk bed he was going to take, etcetera etcetera. Most of all they wanted to know why he was there to begin with.

"I think I want to do like a circuit tour of all the cabins, just to raise some hell," Dean would answer playfully with a wink, dodging the real reason like a pro. All his answers to the kids triggered charming surface banter, his facade back up and guns blazing with witty retorts and charismatic comments. His announcement that he was going to sleep got the kids in bed faster than I thought anything could and not for the first time I wished I had Dean instead of Gabe.

...

I'm a light sleeper - I always have been. So when I woke up to silence, I figured it was nothing. I was in a bottom bunk on the other side of the room across from Dean's bed. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, when I heard blankets rustling and soft whimpers coming from the brothers' direction. I blinked a second and turned to see what was going on.

I saw Dean was already reaching out through the bunk bed frames to land a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam - hey, Sammy," he whispered, trying to break Sam out of his nightmare. Sam gasped and keened quietly, clearly still stuck in his dream. Dean moved his hand back and pulled out of his sleeping bag. Sorely, he landed his feet on the ground and crouched over next to Sam's bed.

"Sammy, wake up dude," he whispered, leaning into Sam's bottom bunk and perching on the edge. I heard Sam gasp again, then start breathing heavily.

"Hey you okay?" Dean whispered. I couldn't see where his hand was in the dark, but I could see his arm slowly moving up and down over his little brother.

"Yeah," Sam replied weakly.

Dean stayed there for a few moments before ducking under Sam's bed completely and taking the side of the wall to lie down. Neither of them said anything - I just heard them moving around a little before settling down.

The rest of the night was quiet.

...

I also wake up early. Earlier than all of the campers. I don't like waking up so early - I usually lay awake in bed day-dreaming until I force myself out. But at the break of dawn when my eyes opened, I remembered Sam and Dean. Looking over, Dean's bed was still empty. I yawned as I pulled my sleeping bag off and set my feet on the freezing cold hardwood. Groggy, I padded over to Sam's bunk and braced my hand on the frame above, looking into the nook and unable to hide my smile.

The two of them were both on their backs, mouths open, oblivious to the world. Dean's arm was outstretched under Sam's neck and shoulders, his hand curled in slightly, probably having relaxed in his sleep from when he'd been holding Sam. Sam's arm closest to Dean was bent at the elbow against the bed, hanging in mid-air as it leaned against Dean.

I figured maybe I'd let Sam save face by waking them up now before the other kids got up. I smirked at the thought of shaking the frame of the bunk bed, simulating an earthquake. I didn't think Dean would appreciate that though, so instead I just leaned down and whispered.

"Yo, hey guys."

Sam came awake with a start, grunting a little.

"Yeah, hi," he said, trying to focus. I laughed at the simple response.

"Hi bud. You comfortable?" I smiled, ticking my head to Dean.

Sam gave a tired huff and looked over at Dean.

"Dee," Sam grunted softly, nudging his brother.

"Uh, what?" Dean moaned, eyes still closed.

I watched thoroughly amused.

"Wake up," Sam murmured, but he didn't move to wake his brother up any more than he already was. Sam's eyes closed again. A second or two passed and Dean sighed, then opened his eyes. Looking around blearily, he finally spotted me above him.

"Hey Jay," he said sleepily. I snorted quietly.

"Hey man."

Dean started moving, idly prepping to stretch, and Sam hummed in annoyance at the jostling.

"Oh shit," Dean said, suddenly curling in against Sam in pain, starting to pull his out from under Sam, "I can't feel my _arm_," he whined, grimacing as Sam reacted on automatic and lifted up so Dean could get it out and cradle it against his chest. I started laughing quietly.

"S'ry," Sam murmured, having already started to go back to sleep.

Dean huffed, hitting his head against the pillow, then turned to look at me.

"Just thought I'd wake you up before the campers did," I shrugged. Dean gave an understanding nod and sighed again before he gathered resolve and got up to go back to his bunk.

At the end of the camp, I decided I wanted to come back next summer. I never had any siblings growing up and I realized that being a camp counselor was the closest I could come to being a big brother. I'll probably never stop trying to be as good as Dean.

* * *

**Writer's Note: Did you like it? Please comment/review if you have the time! Thank you! ~ Alex**


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